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THE HIGH TRAIL 

















MRI 



46 


So you’ve been trying to under-bid the Triple X!” 

—Page 4 





















ADVENTURES ON 

THE HIGH TRAIL 

By ALLEN CHAFFEE 

Author of “Lost River,” “Unexplored!” “Twinkly 
Eyes” (3 vols ), “Sitka,” “ Fuzzy-Wuzz,” 

“Fleet Foot,” “The Travels of Honk-a- 
Tonk,” and “Trail and Tree Top,” 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

CHARLES H. LASSELL 


1923 

MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY 
SPRINGFIELD MASSACHUSETTS 






CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. The Rival Packers.1 

II. The Cowboy and the Mexican ... 23 

III. An Exciting Night. 48 

IV. Toil and Trouble. 67 

V. A Matter of Sportsmanship .... 94 

VI. Marooned on a Mountain Side . . . 113 

VII. Double-Crossed. 131 

VIII. A Matter of Fair Play. 153 

IX. The Plot Thickens. 164 

X. The Show-Down. 186 

Appendix. 203 













- 


I 






Adventures on the High Trail 

CHAPTER I 
THE RIVAL PACKERS 
[STEN to this, folks!” Bart Blais- 



J_j dell leapt from his horse and burst 
through the corral gate holding out a letter. 
“We’ve won the contract for the Sequoia 
Club high trip!” 

“Good work!” his sister Norma congrat¬ 
ulated him. 

“Mother, can’t I go too?” clamored four- 
teen-year old Tim. 

“What do they write?” asked Mrs. Blais- 
dell. 

Bart passed the blue sheet to Norma. 

“ ‘Mr. Bartlett Blaisdell,’ ” (she read) 

“ ‘Three Pines, 

“ ‘Inyo County, California, 

“ ‘Dear Mr. Blaisdell,— 

“ ‘We have decided to accept your offer to 


2 Adventures on the High Trail 

guide and pack our party of fifty, with your 
sister in charge of commissary, at your rate of 
$60 apiece for the thirty days, beginning July 
sixth. 

“ ‘We will make the circuit covered last year 
by the Sierra Club,—that is, from Giant Forest 
to Mt. Whitney by Little Five Lakes Basin, 
and back by Junction Pass and Kings 9 River 
Canyon. We look forward to a most enjoyable 
trip with you. 

“ ‘Enclosed please find check for the full 
amount, ($3,000), as requested, that you may 
hire pack-mules and purchase supplies in 
advance. 

“ ‘Sincerely, 

“ ‘Winthrop Clarke.’ 

And it’s headed, ‘Winthrop Clark, M. D., 
Call Building, San Francisco. June sec¬ 
ond.’ ” 

“My, but Carlin will be mad!” Bart so¬ 
bered. (Carlin was a rival packer.) 

“Children,” insisted the pink cheeked 
woman who seemed too young to be Bart’s 
mother, “come in to dinner now, and we’ll 


The Rival Packers 


3 


settle the details afterwards. Tim, are 
your hands clean ? Norma, bring that small 
jar of cream.” 

Bart whisked the saddle from huge gray 
Moro, turning him into the field with an 
affectionate slap on the shoulder. The yel¬ 
low-haired girl lifted the lid from a huge 
flat box built over the brook that tinkled 
through the back yard, selecting from 
among jars of milk and other products of 
the little ranch. 

The daily wind of the Owen’s Valley des¬ 
ert was just beginning to relieve the dry 
heat of noonday, and the best of appetites 
were applied to the veal steak and new po¬ 
tatoes, cucumbers, corn on the cob, and 
green apple pie. Then Bart acknowledged 
his check and rode back to Three Pines to 
cash it. 

As he reached the far end of the business 
block, he found Carlin just coming out of 
the post office, his square face with its two- 
story chin so red with anger that his sandy 
mustache looked pale. Bart recognized the 


4 Adventures on the High Trail 

blue envelope of the Sequoia Club in his 
hand. 

“So you’ve been trying to under-bid the 
Triple X!” he bellowed.—His voice car¬ 
ried clear to the crowd of idlers around the 
blacksmith shop a block away. 

“I don’t know what you bid,” drawled 
Bart placidly, “but I made my own bid,— 
and it has been accepted.”—Some of the 
loungers had started down the street, scent¬ 
ing excitement. 

“I call it dirty business!” and this time 
the blacksmith had no trouble in hearing 
Carlin’s half of the dialogue. “Yes, sir, 
I call it downright dirty business!—To 
under-bid a man that’s held the contract all 
these years!” 

“You’ve had the monopoly long enough, 
then,” Bart uttered with irritating calm. 

Well, you’ll be a fool to try it, with your 
inexperience! Why,”—to the gathering 
circle, ‘that boy’s not fit to handle a re¬ 
sponsibility like that—taking fifty people 
off into the back-country where ’most any- 


The Rival Packers 


5 


thing might happen to them!—He’s not 
fit, and if I hadn’t bid myself, (which would 
make it look like a personal matter), I’d 
write the Sequoia Club and tell them so.” 
Carlin was a big man, and he had a plat¬ 
form voice. 

“The Club president already knows what 
I can do as a packer.” Bart’s drawl was 
forgotten. “And if they’d a-been satisfied 
with the Triple X, they sure wouldn’t have 
asked me for rival bids.” He straight¬ 
ened the saddle so abruptly that Moro 
pranced. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking 
about.—He don’t know what he’s talking 
about. It’s a lie, that’s what it is!” roared 
Carlin. “They took his bid because it was 
the lowest. Any one will do that. It’s hu¬ 
man nature. That’s only human nature. 
But I know a thing or two, and I know the 
trip can’t be made at the price.” 

“What price?” smiled Bart irritatingly. 

“Any price lower than the figure I gave 
them.—I tell you, it can’t be done, and 


6 


Adventures on the High Trail 

you’ll find it out quick enough, and serve 
you right,—” with more that would be unfit 
for print. “ Where he learned so much 
about packing I don’t know. I wouldn’t 
give him a job in my corral, not if he paid 
me to. He certainly never learned how to 
make a success of anything from his father. 
His father couldn’t have—” 

Bart drowned his roar. “Leave my 
father’s name out of this!” 

“Yes, lay off, Carlin,” the blacksmith 
championed, for he had joined the group. 
“Haven’t you common decency*?” And 
there was a chorus of “Drop it!” “Re¬ 
spect a man that’s dead ’n ’ buried! ’ ’ 

The big man scowled at the assemblage, 
yanking the sombrero from his red head to 
mop his forehead. “You wait!” he ad¬ 
jured them, and to Bart: “You just wait! 
That’s all I’ve got to say. That trip will 
come to grief, as sure as shooting!” and he 
flung himself heavily to his saddle and dug 
spurs in his mount. 

“Jumping wildcats! But he loves a 


The Rival Packers 


7 


scrap,’’ laughed one of the bystanders. 
“Old Carlin picks a scrap where other men 
go on a spree.” 

“It’s his hair,” laughed another. 

“Hey, Bart,” warned the blacksmith, 
“You’d better watch out or he’ll git you 
f’r that!—He’s just mean enough to.” 

“I sure will,” promised Bart. 

“Nobody can’t bust in on his m’nopoly 
without might’ nigh gettin’ busted him¬ 
self.” 

Bart thought of his year as State Lion 
Hunter,—in which he had so many close 
calls that his mother had persuaded him to 
give it up for her sake. He banked his 
money and galloped back to the ranch. 
“I’m sorry,” his mother commented, when 
she had heard about the meeting. 

“Why, isn’t it true, what Bart told 
him?” Norma’s chin squared. 

“Yes, it’s true enough, but Bart has 
made an enemy, and I’m not sure it is going 
to be worth the price. Carlin is a mean 
man to fight. Bart was victor anyway, and 


8 Adventures on the High Trail 

Carlin would probably have felt bitter 
enough without a comparative youngster 
adding all this personal irritation.—I 
wish you had been big enough to have re¬ 
plied in a more businesslike manner.” 

Bart’s ears reddened. 

4 ‘Do you suppose,” asked Norma, “that 
Carlin knows about next year’s trip?” 

“They probably wrote us both the same 
letter,” Bart reasoned, “when they asked 
for bids.” 

“That’s why he takes it so hard. A big 
horseback trip like that, with several hun¬ 
dred people, will be sure to be written up,” 
prophesied Mrs. Blaisdell. 

“ Yes, ” agreed Norma. ‘ ‘ The John Muir 
Trail is already famous, and it’s just high 
enough and dangerous enough, and roman¬ 
tic enough to be following the backbone of 
the continent,—can’t you picture the in¬ 
terest it will arouse?” 

“It’ll sure be great advertisement!” 
Bart’s eyes shone. 

“It would be the making of either of 


The Rival Packers 


9 


you,” declared Mrs. Blaisdell. “So, natu¬ 
rally Carlin is about frantic at your having 
this chance to show them what you can do.” 

“I don’t see how he can interfere,” com¬ 
mented Norma. 

“Trust him,” laughed Bart, “to give me 
a black eye, the first thing he hears of going 
wrong.” 

“Well, let’s put our minds on what we 
are going to do,” Mrs. Blaisdell gently 
turned the subject, and there was a com¬ 
mittee of the whole gathered around Nor¬ 
ma’s provision list. 

“The Sierra Club gets their hams by the 
ton,” suggested Norma. 

“The Sequoia Club’s too small for that, 
but I figure I’ll need thirty pack-mules any¬ 
way,” decided Bart. 

They had saddle horses and Norma’s 
little pet mule, Tinker, and Bart had se¬ 
cured an option at a low figure on the hire 
of the rest of the stock. 

According to his estimate, he would need 
four men to help handle the pack-train. 


10 Adventures on the High Trail 

He could count on fat, faithful Joe, the 
Piute Indian who worked on the place, then 
Joe had a cousin who had just graduated 
from the Indian school, but where to find 
another packer Bart did not know. He 
had scoured the Valley from Bishop down 
to Mojave. The new concrete highway to 
Los Angeles had pledged every unemployed 
man above Death Valley. Unless Car¬ 
lin’s outfit would now have time on its 
hands ?—He even doubted that, as the 
Triple X Corral was always busy at this 
time of year taking fishermen into the back 
country, and yet even with five men they 
would have their hands full. He almost 
considered tow-headed Tim’s plea to be al¬ 
lowed to lead a string of mules. 

Two Chinese student cooks were available. 

He left Norma deep in conference with 
her mother and Tim over the question of 
dehydrated supplies as weighed against the 
bulk of fresh food that could be taken into 
the mountains. Milk powder, for one, was 
voted upon in place of canned milk, by rea- 


The Rival Packers 


11 


son of its lighter weight. Norma told a 
story of the ranger’s wife near Marvin 
Pass. A woman tourist had ridden that far 
and then begged her hospitality for the 
night. “How I wish you’d take me to 
board!” she urged, but the ranger’s wife 
explained that she was too busy to do any 
extra cooking. “Oh, I’d be perfectly 
happy,” insisted the tourist, “on just milk 
and eggs.” “Milk and eggs,” said the ran¬ 
ger’s wife, “are exactly the two things I 
have had to learn to do without, in the 
mountains. By the time a box of eggs had 
been brought in by stage and horseback, it 
would be either chickens or omelette, ac¬ 
cording to the eggs.” 

Of course flour and cereals, ham, bacon, 
and dried fruits, were the staples, together 
with such dried vegetables as potatoes and 
onions and Brussels sprouts. 

“How much were you figuring on spend¬ 
ing?” asked Tim importantly, now that he 
was to go. 

His mother suppressed a desire to smile. 


12 Adventures on the High Trail 

She had decided on a new method of 
handling the boy. “The question/’ she 
told him as she would have addressed an 
expert authority, “is to keep weight and 
bulk down as much as possible, while giving 
them a good variety. What do you Scouts 
carry?” 

Tim’s bony chest rose visibly. “I gener¬ 
ally about live on the trout I catch. Gee! 
I’ve caught so many trout, I can’t bear to 
look one in the face for weeks after!” 

“Good!—then we can count on you,” 
Norma beamed at him, after exchanging a 
glance with her mother. “Trout would 
certainly help solve the problem of fresh 
meat.” 

Tim looked a trifle uneasy, and shortly 
slipped away to examine his trout rod. 
They were certainly putting him on his up¬ 
pers. 

Norma thought it would be worth while to 
take “real” coffee, in sealed half pound 
tins, instead of the powdered kind. This 
they could get at wholesale, as the Club was 


The Rival Packers 


18 


entitled to a rate at a couple of the Los An¬ 
geles houses. The canned butter and some 
of the less usual dried fruits, like pears and 
cherries, they could buy there too. Then 
Bart could get fresh meat from the abbatoir 
three miles from Giant Forest, and ten days 
later at Camp Funston. The sheet-iron 
wood stove in the shed would be small 
enough to take on mule back. The Sierra 
Club had taken four of these little cook 
stoves. The chef had fried griddle-cakes 
and steaks over the whole top of them. 

Supper time found them still figuring on 
the menus possible after a day on the trail. 
Like the Sierra Club, they would have cafe¬ 
teria service, and eat seated about on logs 
or on the pine needles. 

“You’ll have to learn to get up in the 
morning, Norma,” her mother laughed. 
The ranch woman, bride of the early days, 
had gone everywhere through the mountains 
with her husband, prospecting. 

It was two weeks before Bart came in one 
evening with the news that he had a packer. 


14 Adventures on the High Trail 

He had found a college fellow at the hotel, 
one Morgan, who was strong, knew horses, 
wanted the trip, and was nowise averse to 
earning his $2.50 a day “and found.” 

A few days later he engaged a Mexican, 
Mariscal, who had been with Carlin’s outfit, 
but claimed to be out of a job. 

“With Carlin’s outfit!” Mrs. Blaisdell 
meditated aloud. “Well, it may be all 
right, but I’d keep an eye on him.” 

On the appointed evening, the pack 
outfit, with loaded mules, started with the 
cool of sundown on the twenty-eight mile 
stretch of sand and sagebrush to Independ¬ 
ence Creek. They would travel all that 
moonlight night, and camp next day in the 
shade of the cottonwoods below the fish 
hatchery. Norma led the way on Prince, 
while the rest rode behind the mules, who 
spread out fan-wise, refusing to keep to the 
hard road. One animal in particular prom¬ 
ised to give them trouble,—“Reverse” they 
named him, by reason of the reverse action 
of his hind legs. Every time any-one ap- 


The Rival Packers 


15 


proached, he shot his heels viciously—first 
in one direction, then in the other,—as if to 
make doubly sure of his aim. It was there¬ 
fore necessary to keep him at the tail end 
of the procession. Then there was the 
Goat, a white mule with whiskers and a 
goat-like gleam in his pink-rimmed eye that 
had earned him his title. That gleam had 
a meaning, too, for the Goat gave more 
trouble than the rest of the mules put to¬ 
gether, with the sole exception of Reverse. 
Little Tinker, with the curl of brown fur 
where he had been ear-marked, led the pack- 
train, tripping along so fast on his neat, 
small hoofs that Bart had all he could do 
to persuade him to halt when the need arose. 

On the right towered the Sierras, black 
and white in the vivid moonlight, their 
snow caps agleam, and in the midst of the 
Eastern wall, that slight notch that Bart 
knew for Kearsarge Pass. Here the High 
Trail crossed the divide at almost twelve 
thousand feet, between peaks that towered 
clear up to Mt. Whitney, the highest point 


16 Adventures on the High Trail 

in the United States, a sharp rise—on its 
Eastern wall—of 10,000 feet from the Val¬ 
ley floor. 

Norma gazed at the huge yellow globe be¬ 
fore them. “You know how the Indians 
speak of the Hunting Moon, and the Moon 
of Falling Leaves ?” asked Norma. “When 
we go a-gypsying, oughtn’t it to be the 
Gypsy Moon?” 

“Why not?” agreed her brother. “Hey, 
sis, you’re the sardine’s whiskers in those 
togs!” He studied her for a moment. 
There was something magnetic about the 
girl,—perhaps her large gray eyes, with 
their curling lashes. The crowd would take 
to her, he felt sure. She rode ahead dash¬ 
ingly. 

Tim sang as he spurred his mount to the 
pursuit of the errant ones. He was having 
the time of his life. 

“Take me back to Arizona,” 


he begged tunefully, 


The Rival Packers 


17 


“ When it lived its wild career, 

When they had a man for breakfast 
Every morning in the yearl—” 

u Hey, you, Reverse! Come back, you 
broncho!” yelled Bart. 

4 ‘Hey, you, Goat!” shrilled Tim, with 
flattering mimicry, riding after the white 
mule on his pinto pony. 

All that moonlight night they traveled, 
stopping at three to eat the fried chicken 
and chocolate cake that Mrs. Blaisdell had 
put up for them,—the last of such fare, as 
she had pointed out, they would taste for 
weeks to come. About seven in the morn¬ 
ing they came to their camping place 
and turned the stock out to graze. Being 
healthily fatigued, they unrolled their 
sleeping-bags, by way of mattresses, and 
after a light meal, drowsed, despite the 
glare of light. At four they would start 
out again, camping that night in a valley 
high under the Pass, where they would need 
all their warm bedding. Jose Mariscal, 


18 Adventures on the High Trail 

shifty eyed, taciturn beneath his drooping 
moustachios, was to take his turn the last 
quarter at keeping the stock from roving. 

They had passed a purple patch of fuzzy- 
stemmed loco-weed, that toxic plant, named 
for the Mexican word for “mad”, which 
so crazes a horse that eats it that he will ac¬ 
tually attack a man murderously with his 
fore hoofs. Gray balls of tumble-weed 
rolled about in the wind, and the air was 
redolent of that rather distasteful sweet¬ 
ness and oiliness of tar-weed. Here and 
there were clumps of mesquite, and an occa¬ 
sional tall cactus raised prickly arms to the 
sky. It was the poorest kind of forage, but 
Bart had arranged to turn the stock into a 
stubble-field where they could pick up a 
good meal. 

Happening to be unable to get to sleep 
again after he had turned his watch over to 
the Mexican, for the wind was blowing 
sand which stung his face irritatingly, he 
was surprised to see the slouching figure of 
Mariscal driving the horses out of the field 


The Rival Packers 


19 


and down the road. Watching from be¬ 
neath a lowered hat-brim, and finally rising 
to stare at the mysterious action, he found 
the animals in the midst of a patch of pur¬ 
ple. He bounded to the spot.—It was 
loco-weed! 

“Stop!” Bart commanded the packer. 
“Don’t you know that’s loco?” and he whis¬ 
tled to the lead mare, who brought the whole 
bunch back on the gallop. 

The Mexican looked injured innocence. 
“Dat no loco.” 

Bart studied his shifting eyes. “You’ll 
bear watching,” he decided inwardly. 

He confided his suspicions of the Mex¬ 
ican to Joe, as the latter, one foot braced 
against Reverse’s pack, began cinching 
him. The mule, with ears laid back and 
teeth bared for a possible nip, blew his sides 
full of air till the belt should be adjusted, 
and circled about for a kick, but Joe was 
too quick for him. 

“W-i-i-i-ld and reckless!” 

Tim serenaded, 


20 Adventures on the High Trail 
“ Just got outa Texas! 

The mule rolled his eyes at him. 

“Wild and woolly and full o’ fleas, 

Never been curried below the knees!” 

Bart watched thankfully, as one after the 
other, Morgan helped get the mule-strings 
under way on the mounting trail. He won¬ 
dered if the college boy was going to stand 
the test of camp life as well as he promised. 

Above, white cloud wisps rose between 
the peaks. “Isn’t it going to be a glorious 
trip!” Norma exulted. 

“You’re sure going to scramble over 
s-o-m-e scenery!” Bart agreed. 

As the trail doubled around the face of a 
cliff next morning, Bart, who had fallen be¬ 
hind the others till he could see them merely 
as moving specks on the Pass, raised his 
eyes from the narrow trail to enjoy the 
cloud-flecked pinnacles, pink with iron ore 
and tinted with olive fungus. On the min¬ 
iature snow bank melting in the sunshine 
Moro slipped. For a moment he struggled 


The Rival Packers 


21 


to recover his balance, then slid, quivering, 
down the granite ledge,—and before Bart 
realized what had happened, he lay with one 
leg pinned painfully beneath his horse. 
They had been brought to an abrupt halt by 
the rope tied to the saddle-horn,—the lead 
rope of the string of pack-mules, who now 
braced their small, sure feet, and waited on 
the trail above. 

Had it not been for the horsehair rope, 
horse and rider would have slid to the white 
water churning far below, between the 
boulders of the mountain torrent.—Bart 
dared not struggle to free his pinioned leg, 
lest he should destroy their present equilib¬ 
rium. 

He could just see that the earthy bank 
where Moro had lost his footing had been 
freshly undermined, as if with a spade. 
The trap had been deliberately laid for his 
undoing,—and the Mexican from Carlin’s 
outfit had been next in line! 

Bart had no longer any doubt that Maris- 
cal was in Carlin’s hire—not that the rival 


22 Adventures on the High Trail 

packer could have sanctioned the actual 
manslaughter that had nearly resulted, but 
he might have paid the muleteer to throw as 
many obstacles as possible in the way of a 
successful trip. 


CHAPTER II 


THE COWBOY AND THE MEXICAN 

H OW long would the lariat bear the 
heavy weight ? Bart asked himself, 
as he measured the possibilities. How long 
would the pack-mules stand docile under 
the strain ? 

Had it not been for the rope, the horse 
would not be held there, pinning his rider 
to the slope of the cliff. ‘ 4 Steady, Moro! ,, 
he bade the frightened animal.— If he cut 
the rope from the saddle-horn, and so re¬ 
leased the horse, he could pull himself back 
to the trail by the lariat, but Moro would 
go crashing to the rocks below. “ Nothing 
doing, old friend!” he decided. “I’m sure 
not going to sacrifice you.” Help would 
come, if only they could hold out long 
enough. 


23 


24 Adventures on the High Trail 

He eyed the slope below, as well as he 
could from behind the fallen horse. A 
twisted juniper clung valiantly to the cliff, 
its roots evidently fast in a frost crack. If 
the lariat broke, he might have the luck to 
slide within clinging distance of the gnome¬ 
like tree.— But if he missed! 

How long would it be till they missed 
him? He must signal. His pinioned leg 
was numb now,—it no longer pained him,— 
and he could think more clearly. He gave 
the far-carrying cry of the coyote, though 
he knew it could hardly reach the line of 
moving specks who continued to zigzag 
along the trail. In the holster of his 
chaparejos was his gun. With infinite pa¬ 
tience he might wriggle it from beneath 
him, and fire the prescribed three shots for 
help, but that would scare the mules, who 
might either drag them or break loose. Al¬ 
ready a jingle of bells appraised him that 
the animals were getting restless. Fortun¬ 
ately Tinker was in the lead,—little Tinker, 
whom they had raised from a colt, and who, 


The Cowboy and the Meancan 25 

at his steadying call, braced his small, sure 
hoofs against the urgings of the next mule 
in line. 

Bart’s ears pricked to the sound from 
below,—the clatter of shod hoofs on granite 
—some one was coming up the trail! 

“Hello!— Hey, there! Hello!” he called 
at the top of his lungs. 

“Ya-hoo-o-o!” came back to him, as a 
cowboy rounded the bend. He took in the 
situation at a glance. Wasting no time on 
words, he swung the coiled riata on his sad¬ 
dle-horn and neatly lassooed the head of the 
fallen horse. Bart widened the coil to ease 
it over Moro’s fore-legs, and the puncher 
pulled it taut. His mount, trained to cat¬ 
tle branding, braced all fours mightily, and 
the gray horse was hauled steadily back the 
way he had fallen. 

“Ketch a-hold of his tail!” yelled the 
cowman, as Bart’s leg was loosed. The boy 
made a frantic reach, but too late! Down 
—down he slipped. Below churned the 
white water of the boulder-strewn gorge 


26 Adventures on the High Trail 

—but he had presence of mind enough to 
throw his weight toward the twdsted juni¬ 
per. His hand grazed one of the storm- 
flattened branches, and he gripped it with 
all his might. The horse was by now safely 
back on the trail, and the lariat swung with 
unerring accuracy about Bart’s shoulders. 
When he had slipped it beneath his arms, he 
too was drawn to the trail above. 

‘ 4 Hurt?” the stranger demanded, noting 
the way he drew himself to a standing pos¬ 
ture by the aid of the nearest pine. 

“Guess not,” he winced, as the feeling be¬ 
gan to come back to his leg. “How about 
my horse?” 

Moro’s side was bleeding, but there ap¬ 
peared to be no serious cut, and his legs 
were uninjured. 

Bart’s knees crumpled, and he slid to 
a sitting posture, a movement that the 
puncher observed with penetrating steel 
gray eyes. “You shore could stand a cup 
of coffee,” he suggested. He dipped into 
his saddle-bags, and deftly conjuring a 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 27 

liandful of fire between two stones, filled his 
pint tin cup from his canteen, and Bart was 
shortly gulping down a reviving potion. 

“No bones broken,” they diagnosed the 
injured leg, to Bart’s infinite relief. 

After a short rest he was able to mount 
his rescuer’s horse, the vaquero insisting on 
walking. Bart could see, from the way he 
hobbled along in his high-heeled riding 
boots, bow-legged like all cowmen, that such 
exercise was new to him. 

“Go on, Moro,” Bart commanded, and 
the mountain-bred pony 1 led the way along 
the narrow ledge. 

The up-trail was not hard for the bruised 
and shaken boy, since all he had to do was 
to sit the slow-walking animal, with his 
game leg dangling free of the stirrup. Tex 
panted, for the air was thin at this altitude, 
and Bart tried to give back his mount, but 
the offer was derided. Bart told him of his 
undertaking, and of Carlin. 


i Every horse kept solely for riding purposes is called a 
pony in that country, regardless of his size. 


28 Adventures on the High Trail 

“I know him,” Tex declared. “He’s one 
bad hombre if he’s your enemy. Won’t 
scruple at nothin’.” 

“Anyway, the Mexican’s fired!” decided 
Bart. 

Turning for a glance along the back-trail 
as the mules stopped for breath, they 
could see the gray-green chaparral that was 
Owen’s Valley, and in its midst, the white 
checker-board of Independence. Beyond 
the white-clad range that hemmed the Val¬ 
ley on the East, they knew, lay Nevada. 
A cavalcade of moving specks seemed to be 
winding along the way they had just come. 

“Another pack-train!” ejaculated Bart. 

The drifting cloud that came darkly from 
the South now began sending a chill drizzle 
down on them, then a brief drenching, 
which they little minded, in their felt hats 
and leathern chaps. Tex added a canvas 
coat; Bart took it in his sweater. The 
rain stopped, and a watery sun broke 
through, sending long bars slanting through 
the little grove they had reached, and the 


The Cowboy and the Meocican 29 

breeze dried their clothing. One more steep 
effort and the trail paused on the summit 
of the Pass to peer over into the valley of 
Kearsarge Lakes, in whose mirrored calm 
the surrounding peaks and pinnacles shone 
lifelike but inverted. Below, lined up 
waiting for him, Bart recognized the rest of 
the cavalcade. 

Biding up to Mariscal, he asked in a cas¬ 
ual tone, “Got a spade V 9 

“1STo, Senor,”—the Mexican answered, 
eyeing him guiltily. 

Bart looked along the pack-train till he 
saw an alforjah with flecks of fresh mud 
on the upper edge. With a swift movement 
he reached into its depths. The Mexican 
made an involuntary gesture of protest, as 
Bart brought to light one of the short-han¬ 
dled trench spades. To it clung particles of 
the moist soil of the trail. “You didn’t ex¬ 
pect to see me again so soon?” Bart asked 
with quiet sarcasm. “Not in this life?— 
Well, I don’t want to see you again, either. 
Here’s your pay,—and your duffel.” He 


30 Adventures on the High Trail 

unstrapped the Mexican’s bed-roll and 
tossed it to him. Mariscal hesitated, then 
grabbing at the money, set spurs to his 
horse and turned back. 

‘ 4 Here’s some one going our way,” Bart 
introduced his rescuer. “Meet my friend, 
Tex.” And he made no mention of the ac¬ 
cident till Norma demanded to know why 
Moro’s side was bleeding. The shaken 
horse was taking the huge granite steps 
more and more uncertainly. 

“Guess he don’t feel very skookum,” said 
the cowman. Norma pricked her ears at 
the Alaskan phrase. They had reached a 
level place where she could ride beside him. 
She also noted a tinge in his accent. 
“You’re Southern, aren’t you?” she asked. 

“Not exackly.— Started life punchin’ 
cows in Texas,” he began the saga of his 
adventures. He had roved from the gold 
fields of Alaska to the Mexican border—and 
beyond. He had been a ranger in Ari¬ 
zona, a lion hunter in Oregon, and had 
earned his bread variously on sea and sage- 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 31 

brush—yet he was only twenty-eight. 
Norma studied his lean face,—his steady 
gray eyes, his strong nose and the scar across 
one temple. It was a face that inspired 
trust, despite its homeliness. When, at 
dusk, they reached their night’s camping 
place, he had woven for her a figure of ro¬ 
mance. Yet she felt that, if anything, he 
had under-stated his adventures. She 
wished boastful Tim might take Tex for his 
model. If Carlin were to make trou¬ 
ble, she would feel better about the expedi¬ 
tion if Tex were along—but the cowman, 
it seemed, had business in Visalia. 

As the clouds had been gathering about 
the peaks all afternoon, they were not sur¬ 
prised when one blacker than the rest blew 
a thunder-storm across their path. Kear- 
sarge Pinnacles and the Videttes attracted 
storms, as they could see from the lush 
green of the meadows around the peninsula 
of higher ground on which they were to 
camp. First tying a little A-tent for the 
girl between two pines, they turned the an- 


32 Adventures on the High Trail 

imals loose, while lightning struck among 
the peaks, and thunder echoed back and 
forth. The mules, turning their heads away 
from the drive of the cold drops, fell to 
grazing along the curve of the swollen 
river. The supplies in the canvas kyacks 
they stacked and covered with a tarpaulin. 
Here Bart planned to cache the food that 
had been brought thus far on the dunnage 
mules: they would get it as the Club reached 
this part of the circuit, three weeks hence. 

The men now stretched a lean-to with 
Tex’s tarp, threw their bed-rolls under in 
a row, and built a fire between that and the 
girl’s tent. The rain quieted to a steady 
patter, mule-bells tinkled here and there 
through the surrounding darkness, and 
Piute Joe’s wide bronze face beamed at the 
mounting stack of griddle-cakes. Tex had 
won Tim’s gratitude by teaching him how 
to flap them. 

Tex had begun by raking the soft-wood 
from one end of the bed of embers over 
which Norma was cooking canned beans 


The Covoboy and the Mexican 33 

and tomatoes. He set his frying-pan to 
melting a liberal allotment from his can of 
cold bacon fat, then, stirring up a rather 
thin batter, he soon had a huge cake ready 
to turn. Tim watched with the fascinated 
eyes of the Boy Scout whose flap-jacks come 
to grief. The puncher tossed, and the 
browned cake landed neatly. 

“Let me try one,” begged the youngster. 

“You want to sorta loosen it first,” Tex 
explained, gently rotating the pan till the 
cake slid easily about. Tim took the han¬ 
dle. “Now, quick!”— The third attempt 
landed squarely, and Tim’s chest rose vis¬ 
ibly.—After that Tex was his model in all 
things culinary. 

Meanwhile, Norma had been broiling 
ham and cooking canned tomatoes. Tim 
was to make the coffee. “I don’t start with 
no hot water,” Tex volunteered. “Give me 
that pot.” Norma watched with interest. 
Filling the smoke-grimed kettle half full of 
cold water, he added the coffee and let it 
come to a boil. At that precise point he 


34 Adventures on the High Trail 

poured in more cold, and again let it come 
to the boil. This he repeated till the pot 
was full, dribbling the last of the cold water 
from as high as he could reach. The 
rain-sweet air was fragrant with that finest 
of all odors to a camper’s nostrils, and 
Norma invited: “Come and g-e-t it!” 
Soon the acute pangs of their mountain 
appetites had been somewhat eased. 

“So you’re to he in charge of feeding 
’em?” Tex wondered skeptically, as he 
studied Norma’s flushed face, almost child¬ 
like as the rain fluffed her hair in ringlets 
about it. She had slipped a pair of boy’s 
blue overalls over her trim riding clothes 
while she stooped about the cook-fire, 
though she had brought a skirt and flannel 
middy to change to after the Chinese cooks 
had come. No one gave a thought to her 
attire, for skirts were an anachronism in 
the mountains. 

“Norma knows how to feed people, all 
right,” Bart championed. 

“I’ll say she does,” Joe seconded him. 


The Cowboy and the Meoeican 35 

They lounged sociably about the fire till the 
pails of dishwater should be hot. “I re¬ 
member when she was—let me see, four 
years ago, I was sixteen and she was two 
years younger. Mother had to go to my 
aunt, who had fallen ill, just at the begin¬ 
ning of haying week. ‘Who’s going to cook 
for all those men?’ she kept worrying. It 
was hard enough to get help at all, those war 
years, and they wouldn’t stay two days if 
they didn’t get honest-to-goodness cooking. 
‘You just leave it to me!’ said Norma. 
‘I’ll manage.’— And she did! That kid 
just calmly went to work and made out a 
list of what she would have to order from 
the butcher, and what she’d have each meal, 
and the day beforehand she baked a batch 
of pies and cake, all ready. (I ran the 
bread mixer for her.) And do you know, 
those men vowed at the end of the week that 
it was the best eating they had had in 
years.” 

“All right,” teased Tex, “but I have to 
be shown.” 


36 Adventures on the High Trail 

“Then you’ll have to come back our way,” 
invited Norma. 

“Shall I?” he asked her seriously. 

“You’d enjoy meeting the Club, I’m 
sure,” she evaded. 

Tim also began urging the cowman to 
complete the trip with them. 

“Well,” said Bart, “I am short one 
packer.” 

“See here!” Tex lighted his pipe before 
continuing. “Don’t you go to worryin’ 
none. I’ve about decided to see this thing 
through myself.” 

“You’re hired!” Bart thumped him re¬ 
joicingly. 

That night the men were to take turns 
keeping an eye on the stock. Once a pan¬ 
ther screamed, away off on some mountain¬ 
side, and every-one awoke for a moment. 
Later they half awakened at the sound of 
another outfit pitching camp farther up the 
river. The young Indian had the last 
watch but one. Then came Bart. 

The rain was over. To Bart’s surprise, 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 37 

he found that the stock had strayed. Only 
Moro remained behind. The young Indian 
still slept audibly under the now brilliant 
stars. 

Following the hoof prints in the oozy 
meadow, he found—on a muddy knoll— 
where a huge hob-nailed boot had printed 
its signature. It was a fresh print, plainly 
made since the rain had ceased. The 
wearer evidently had flat feet, as Bart’s 
practised eye read the arrangement of the 
hob-nails, for they were peppered thick 
along the outer edge of the foot, and their 
print extended clear under the instep. The 
heel had been reinforced with one of the 
metal braces sometimes worn to keep it 
straight. Offhand, he could think of no 
one in his party whose boot was of that de¬ 
scription, but he made assurance doubly sure 
by an immediate inspection. “Let me see 
your sole,” he bade Tex, who, characteris¬ 
tically, complied without a question. 
“No,” Bart nodded to himself. 

Three horses and a dozen mules were 


38 Adventures on the High Trail 

f oraging at the opposite end of the meadow, 
but they were not his stock. At his feet he 
found the bell of the lead mule. It had been 
unbuckled from his neck, as it could only 
have been done by human hands. Wrath- 
fully seeking out the campers who had ar¬ 
rived in the night, he came face to face with 
Carlin. 

“Seen your mules'?” roared the new¬ 
comer. “The question’s an insult!” His 
neck reddened rancorously. 

“Wouldn’t I hev ketched ’em if I’d seen 
’em rovin’?—It’s an outrage! Steal a 
man’s bread and butter from his mouth, 
and then expect him to help you at it!” He 
had begun to enjoy his own oratory. 

Bart held his temper leashed. ‘ ‘ I thought 
you might have seen ’em,” he said evenly. 
“I noticed your footprint in the meadow 
just where my mules were driven out.” He 
had been eyeing Carlin’s boots, as they 
stood propped by the fire on two sticks. 
The design unquestionably matched the one 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 39 

he had seen. Carlin became speechless, 
apoplectic. 

Tex sauntered casually up behind. 

“If you don’t mind, Mr. Carlin,” Bart’s 
voice was hard, “we’ll just borrow a couple 
of horses while we round up the strays.” 
With a swift backward step he was on one 
of the horses, bareback, and Tex was on 
another, galloping away, before Carlin could 
protest. 

They lost three hours in rounding up the 
foraging animals who, driven from the pas¬ 
ture, were roving the mountains on both 
sides of the river bed. “Thanks for a 
neighborly service,” said Bart, when he re¬ 
turned the horses. Carlin stared: the sar¬ 
casm was lost on him. “I knew,” Bart 
added, “you wouldn’t want me to miss meet¬ 
ing my party on time at Giant Forest.” 

“I’ve got a party of my own to meet!” 
Carlin exploded, with garnishments of a 
variety in which he was proficient. 

“H’m!” ejaculated the cowman, his eyes 


40 Adventures on the High Trail 

narrowing. ‘ ‘ And Carlin don’t wish you no 
good luck.— I’ve got it, Sister!— How 
does this listen ? That hombre, Carlin, 
he’d just be tickled if you was to miss your 
party at Giant Forest. Mebbe-so. He 
aims to be there hisself, in case there was 
need to take the crowd off your hands.” 

“He wouldn’t dare—!” 

“Mebbe not. Bullies are generally cow¬ 
ards.” 

The dawn that followed their starlit 
breakfast was one that filled them with 
amazed ecstasy. As the white clouds rose 
above the pinnacles, first the bare granite 
dome of East Vidette caught fire, while yet 
the watchers stood in shadow. The snow 
that still traced the pattern of the crevasses 
glittered silver against the rose; then as the 
warming sunshine crept lower, the dark 
tips of the wet pine trees caught its gilded 
rays and shown lacy against the vivid blue 
above them. 

They would have a long day, going down 
into King’s Canyon and out again,—for the 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 41 

canvas hotel owned the pasture on the Can¬ 
yon floor. Their trail would be the same the 
Club would cover on the last lap of its cir¬ 
cuit. Norma stared as if she could never 
get her fill of the purple peaks and spire¬ 
like pinnacles, and the green tracery of 
forest growth against the granite. 

The trail now led precariously along 
shifting stones as fine as hard coal, now 
over the rounded cobblestones of a rivulet 
of melted snow, slippery with wet moss, and 
again between gigantic boulders that had 
been stranded there in the last glacial pe¬ 
riod, when the river of ice ground out the 
titanic box canyon before them. There 
were places where the trail rounded the 
sheer drop of a cliff, and a mis-step would 
have meant catastrophe, and there was 
the park-like level of the canyon floor,— 
eight miles of open forest aisles through 
which the river coursed soundingly. 

Tex, holding the reins and his lead rope 
in one hand, while he deftly felt in the pock¬ 
ets of his sheepskin vest for “the mak- 


42 Adventures on the High Trail 

ings,” rolled himself a cigarette, and 
watched while Morgan cinched up prepara¬ 
tory to the down grade. His own saddle 
had been centre-fire; he was new to double¬ 
rig. Consequently he attempted to tighten 
the rear cinch first, whereat the animal 
promptly bucked. Norma could not re¬ 
strain a laugh at his expense, but he joined 
in even more heartily.—She liked that. 

“I spotted him for a tenderfoot,’’ Tex con¬ 
fided, “the minute I took in them pants of 
his,” referring to the cloth riding-breeches 
behind the goatskin chaps. Tex’s worn 
cowhide chaps fronted nothing more pictur¬ 
esque than ordinary pantaloons. 

“Yes,” Norma retorted, “he never 
claimed to be a real puncher. He’s a Jun¬ 
ior at the U. C. He’s just helping us out 
for a spree.” 

Carlin’s outfit trailed along behind them. 

When they came to the first branch of the 
river that they had to cross, the melting 
snow of the higher elevations had swollen 
the green water till the animals could no 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 43 

longer ford it with dry packs, and Bart 
started to lead them across the narrow log 
foot-bridge. At this, the horses shied, then 
capered skittishly across. But the mules, 
true to their donkey heritage, refused to 
set foot on the unstable structure. Obdu¬ 
rate alike to bribes and blows, they simply 
braced all fours and stood immovable, their 
great ears laid back and their eyes rolling 
till the whites showed. With their small 
feet, mules are apt to mire in a boggy place, 
and they know it. 

The cowman’s soft felt sombrero, which, 
dented into a mountain peak sloping to¬ 
wards the back, served him variously for 
bellows, water-pail, and pillow, sun-shade, 
wind-break, and umbrella, now slapped re¬ 
soundingly on the haunches of the soldier¬ 
ing mules,—and Tim’s imitatively dented 
headgear also punished the errant ones. 

16 Come on, you Goat, you!” Tex adjured 
the white mule, pulling him out on the wob¬ 
bly foot-bridge by sheer force. 

The Goat gave one snort and backed off 


44 Adventures on the High Trail 

into the river. Landing on his haunches in 
three feet of water, he simply sat there, 
ears turned forward inquiringly, all fours 
thrust straight out in front of him, his pack 
slipped around under his belly. 

Bart and Tex finally had to wade into 
the river to help the white mule to his feet, 
and right his pack. With his ears saying 
volumes, as he sat in mid-stream, he had 
been comical. 

After that the pack-train was more skit¬ 
tish than ever about the foot-bridge. Bart 
had an idea. Cutting green boughs, he 
had the packers line both sides of the 
bridge with upstanding branches, - which 
they held temporarily in place by an ar¬ 
rangement of their lariats. The mules, 
seeing what now appeared to be a trail 
through the woods, for they do not see 
plainly what lies to one side, allowed them¬ 
selves to be led across. There was a second 
of the narrow log foot-bridges and a shal¬ 
low ford, but at last they were all across. 

Carlin had stood by, watching skepti- 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 45 

cally, and nowise lending a hand. That did 
not prevent him, though, from afterwards 
taking advantage of the means to get his 
own mules across. 

The view, as they climbed out of the Can¬ 
yon, was superb. Just before dark the 
trail widened on a small area of level ground 
with a fenced tourist pasture that was Sum¬ 
mit Meadow. It was a poor place to camp, 
because there was only a muddy trickle of 
water for any purpose, but they were too 
exhausted, mules and men, to go farther. 
Carlin’s outfit went on,—probably to a mea¬ 
dow two miles farther. At the drawn look 
in Norma’s white face, Tex tried to bully 
her into crawling into her sleeping-bag and 
letting him bring her plate when supper 
was ready, but she insisted on doing her 
share of the camp work. 

She also found time to take her horse a 
piece of apple and a lump of sugar. Gentle 
Prince whom she had raised from a colt, 
and who always responded to the lightest 
touch of her heel when she rode, laid his 


46 Adventures on the High Trail 

brown velvet muzzle warmly against her 
cheek. She had curried him to a glossy 
satin before they started the trip, and she 
feasted her eyes on his graceful beauty. “I 
do think horses are all but human,” she told 
Tex, as she caught Prince’s great soft eyes 
following her about the camp grounds. 

She was glad the Mexican was gone, for 
she had more than once caught his little 
black eyes watching covetously as she patted 
the high arched neck of the slender footed 
pony. Prince had racing blood in his veins, 
and Norma meant to train him to steeple¬ 
chase over fallen logs when cruising off the 
trail. 

Tex told of a horse he used to have, that 
had saved his life on the Mexican border. 
When the cowman—then a Ranger—had 
been shot from ambush and his leg broken, 
he had whistled that horse to his side amid 
flying bullets, and the faithful animal had 
knelt till the man was in the saddle and 
roped to his back,—a wise precaution,—for 
ten hours later the horse had come into 


The Cowboy and the Mexican 47 

headquarters with the now unconscious 
man on his back. 

“I think Prince would do as much for 
me/’ Norma commented. 

That night she was startled from her 
dreams by a scream from Prince,—an 
awful, agonized scream that took her to him 
on the run. A sheath knife stuck in his 
quivering flank: it had cut a gash inches 
deep. Norma found it had just missed the 
big artery. From the tail of her eye she 
had caught a human form that disappeared 
into the shadow of the manzanita bushes, 
but just now her whole thought must be 
given to preventing Prince from bleeding 
to death. 


CHAPTER III 


AN EXCITING NIGHT 

O NLY by prompt action did Norma 
save her horse. 

Rousing Bart and Tex, she found herself 
unable to take the necessary stitches with 
the first aid kit: she had to leave that to Tex, 
while she stood at Prince’s head. With the 
pony’s clean young blood, the cowman as¬ 
sured her from his own experience, that the 
red gash would heal quickly, though of 
course she could not ride him for some time. 
But he thought Prince could follow the 
hikers from day to day, provided he did not 
have to forage all night. Norma would buy 
oats for him at Giant Forest and carry 
enough to help materially for at least two 
weeks. She would ride little Tinker, the 
mule, till Bart had a chance to pick up an- 

48 



An Exciting Night 49 

other saddle horse. If Prince was not fit 
to ride by the time they circled around to 
Vidette, she would leave him there till their 
return to Three Pines. 

Bart, meantime, had gone on moccasined 
feet to investigate a mysterious biped who 
crossed the far end of the pasture. The 
sheath knife pulled from Prince’s flank had 
been the Mexican’s! Keeping to the sha¬ 
dows of the manzanita bushes, he heard a 
sound of sibilant whispering. His own 
name pricked his ear. Holding so still that 
he hardly breathed, he heard: “You 
haven’t earned your money.” 

“I tell you, I keel dat ’orse. He die, sure. 
Den wat? It all help.” 

“I didn’t tell you to kill a horse. I said, 
keep them from getting in to the Forest to¬ 
morrow.” 

“Give me d’ cash.” 

“You haven’t earned it yet.” It was 
Carlin’s voice, for he had changed the whis¬ 
per to a low voiced rumble. 

The other voice now proved to be that of 


50 Adventures on the High Trail 

the Mexican. “I tell you. I feex it tomor’ 
night sure!” 

“How?” 

“I—find way.” 

“You’ll get no money from me unless you 
queer this trip before it starts. That’s 
flat!” The larger figure strode off up the 
trail, the other following at a little distance. 

Bart felt like having it out with them 
right there, but decided to wait. 

He thought grimly: “Forewarned is 
fore-armed—but against what ? ’ ’ He meant 
to keep a double watch that night—a pre¬ 
caution that postponed the Mexican’s re¬ 
turn. 

They made Cahoon Meadows the next 
afternoon,—eight miles from Giant Forest. 
Carlin was there before them. They had 
been assigned a camp site at Crescent Mea¬ 
dow,—a special courtesy on the part of the 
Park officials. Here would be lush pasture, 
good water, and a thickly carpeted grove of 
yellow pines for the sleepers.—Carlin too, 
had been assigned one end of the Meadow. 


An Exciting Night 51 

Norma had ridden the little mule before: 
he trotted along directly behind a certain 
pack-mule whom he had previously selected 
as the proper one to follow, and Norma had 
rather to hold him back than to urge him. 
The only trouble came when she wanted to 
make a detour, and Tinker thought best to 
continue following the pack-train. In the 
argument that followed, Tinker proved to 
have a tough mouth and a mulish disposi¬ 
tion, and they compromised by following 
the pack-train,—after which the little rascal 
again trotted meekly along on his small, 
neat hoofs. His ears rotated placidly save 
when he heard his name pronounced, when 
back would go one of those rabbit-like mem¬ 
bers like a funnel to catch the sound. 

Bart bought Norma a lean ex-racing 
mare from the tourist corral at Giant 
Forest, and thereafter, where others would 
have forded a small stream, Norma found 
herself sailing over it, with Sylph leaping 
like a greyhound. Sylph could not endure 
seeing any horse get ahead of her on the 


52 Adventures on the High Trail 

trail: she would race till she had overtaken 
him and again held the lead. Norma de¬ 
cided there was no reason why the ex-racer’s 
temperament should not be indulged on that 
point. Sylph was not bred to the trail, 
though, and had to be guided, as the others 
did not. 

Poor Prince walked with drooping head 
behind the last of the pack-train, one leg 
stiff, though healing rapidly. At every pool 
and stream he drank feverishly, but he was 
unwilling to be left behind. Norma petted 
him lavishly each night when he came into 
camp. 

On the fifth day after the departure from 
Three Pines, Bart’s patient procession— 
despite the delay caused by straying stock— 
filed past the tent colonies at Giant Forest 
in time to meet the half hundred dusty en¬ 
thusiasts in hiking clothes who, with their 
half hundred dunnage bags, were disgorged 
from the Visalia motor stage and its sup¬ 
plementary vans. A fine air of good fel¬ 
lowship initiated the expedition. Norma 


An Exciting Night 


53 


was relieved to find her two Chinese stu¬ 
dents not only good cooks, but as cheerful 
and courteous as their English was impec¬ 
cable. She was hugely delighted when, in 
reply to some one’s question: “What time 
you catch-em grub?” she replied: “Din¬ 
ner will be ready about six.” That first 
night Norma asked Tim and Morg to stand 
with her behind the row of kettles and serv¬ 
ing-pans ranged on the smoothed upper side 
of a log as the cafeteria line formed with 
their white enamel plates and their tin 
cups, but no sooner had she started la¬ 
dling the steaming soup into the cups than a 
ruddy faced, motherly voiced woman asked: 
“Won’t you let me help?” It was Mrs. 
Clark, the President’s wife. Norma knew 
the members of the Sierra Club volunteered 
that way, but she was glad to have some one 
set the pace. 

She eyed the assemblage appraisingly, 
that night at the bonfire. Dr. Clark was 
joviality itself. In his first speech he sent 
them into gales of laughter by his account 


54 Adventures on the High Trail 

of the hypothetical hardships they would 
have to undergo. He made Norma think of 
a pirate, with his red bandanna bound, Club 
fashion, above his shaggy black brow, his 
rich out-door color and his generous propor¬ 
tions. “ ‘Yo, heave ho! and a bottle of 
rum!’ ” she quoted softly to herself. 

About an equal number of men and 
women made up the party. One slightly 
built, poetic young fellow, Ucelli, had 
brought his violin. He was a “profes¬ 
sional,” and his music would be the biggest 
kind of treat. There were college students 
who sang well, several natural scientists 
whom the doctor promised would give them 
a talk now and then on the region they were 
passing through, and a representation of 
professional men and women, and their 
families. There was also a gray-haired Mr. 
Nutting who, it was whispered, was a rich 
man, but who seemed to enjoy nothing so 
much as bringing in fire-wood. It was a 
jolly, hail-fellow-well-met sort of gathering. 
There was a middle aged school teacher, 


An Exciting Night 55 

Martha Hatch, who promised to be fussy, 
and a Mrs. Progg, a patient of the doctor’s, 
though her only ailment seemed to be over¬ 
weight, who had tried to bring double her 
allowance of thirty-five pounds of dunnage, 
and who protested mightily when Bart 
firmly ruled out her surplus. The evening 
began with an address of welcome from the 
Forest Supervisor, a history of the Big 
Trees, and a warning against carelessness 
with fire. 

Dr. Clark outlined their itinerary. 
“John Muir called this region the finest 
scenery in the whole world,” he declared. 
“As a doctor,” he ended, “I have just 
one piece of advice. I am going to distrib¬ 
ute zinc oxide adhesive tape, an inch wide, 
and I want you to put a strip of it on those 
parts of your foot where you think you 
might—possibly—get a blister. Foot trou¬ 
bles are easier to avoid than to cure, and a 
hiker is only as good as his feet. I am go¬ 
ing to give you this one tip on mountain 
climbing: bathe your feet every night and 


56 Adventures on the High Trail 

put on fresh woolen socks. If you have an 
opportunity in the middle of the day, dangle 
your feet in cold water, and you will be 
amazed how much it will rest them.— 
Never let a blister go without attention, for 
fear of its becoming infected, in which case 
it will become a serious matter. I shall 
hold office hours for half an hour every 
morning before breakfast and again imme¬ 
diately after dinner, and I much prefer to 
give my services for a new blister than for 
an infected one. Remember, the most in¬ 
considerate thing a hiker can do is to sprain 
his ankle, for we are going pretty far from 
any kind of help; so, ‘watch your step.’ ” 

That night something else happened of 
which Norma felt sure their enemy could 
make stock. 

As the girls’ camp lay, a colony of sleep¬ 
ing-bags flat on the pine-needles along the 
river bank, it was suddenly startled from 
slumber by a piercing feminine shriek. 
The night was wholly dark under the 


57 


An Exciting Night 

clouds, and Norma, struggling back from a 
dream of a band to band contest with Car¬ 
lin, became aware of a dim shape of blacker 
darkness that stood over her. Then with a 
snort and a tinkle of mule-bells the shape 
vanished. The animal had planted one 
foot squarely between her sleeping-bag and 
her bunkie’s. 

“Don’t move, girls!” she cautioned. 
“It’s the mules. Don’t scare them or 
they’ll kick.” 

44 Mercy! I don’t want to be stepped 
on!” Martha Hatch rose to her white py- 
jamaed knees. 

44 They won’t step on us.—They can see 
better than we can what they’re doing.” 

They waited, piercing the darkness. As 
their eyes became accustomed to the night, 
they could see that the woods were full 
of moving shapes that tinkled as they 
tramped, and munched loudly in the still¬ 
ness. The voracious animals were eating 
the ferns and leafy undergrowth. Another 
shriek told that some one else had been 


58 Adventures on the High Trail ' 

nearly stepped on. “Shoo!—Get out!” 
came Mrs. Progg’s frightened voice, then a 
chorus of giggles from the college girls, 
who always herded together for the night. 
The sound of a shod hoof striking against a 
boulder told that Norma’s advice had been 
sound. On every side, startled forms were 
sitting up and adjuring the animals to va¬ 
cate the premises, and that right speedily. 

“Don’t start them running, or they’ll 
sure step on us!” Norma begged. “Just 
let me lead them out quietly, one by one. 
Light your flashes so we can see where you 
are.” The woods blossomed with electric 
torches and candle lanterns. “Good!— 
Come, Tinker!— Here, you Goat, get out 
of that!” 

Wrathfully she wondered if the Indian 
had again fallen asleep at his post. As 
there was good pasturage, it seemed queer 

the animals should stray in here at all,_ 

unless they had been driven in. “Chomp, 
chomp, chomp,” went the hungry animals 


An Exciting Night 


59 


among the bracken. A shriek, a splash, 
and a burst of laughter told her that one of 
the college girls had rolled into the river as 
the Goat came too near. Of course she was 
given a hand back to shore, and a good fire 
built to dry her out, but Norma, throwing 
on some clothes, decided to go and see what 
had happened that some one was not in 
charge. She wondered that Bart had not 
heard the commotion: if only he were not 
at the far end of the men’s camp, next the 
meadows, she would have roused him. She 
could find her way in the dark as easily as a 
cat, though less by sight than touch,—the 
feel of the ground under her feet. Circling 
the meadow, she discovered, for one thing, 
that the Indian boy, Joe’s cousin, was again 
fast asleep at his post; he was new to the 
night-watch and had been up half the night 
before. She roused him. 

Carlin sat watching his own stock at the 
other end of the long meadow. Norma sus¬ 
pected more of his handiwork,—else why 


60 Adventures on the High Trail 

should the mules have left good pasturage ? 
She returned to her sleeping-bag resolved 
to keep one ear open. 

Later that night camp was again aroused, 
this time by a crash of pots and kettles, and 
a shout of “It’s a bear!” from the direction 
of commissary. Then with a crash of un¬ 
derbrush a dark form went bounding 
through the girls’ camp and away with a 
“Whoof!” It was not a full grown bear: 
they decided from the footprints next morn¬ 
ing that it must have been a yearling cub. 
But he had certainly clawed their flour bags 
and other supplies in a way that made the 
new kitchen boy say things in Chinese. 

Dr. Clark was hilarious. “He believes 
in bringing home the bacon, that cub,” he 
told the “China boy.” “He’ll probably 
come back for the ham tonight. Do you 
know the one sure way to keep him from 
getting our last ham ?— Just tuck it under 
your sleeping-bag for a pillow. Here, 
Tim, you take the ham to bed with you to- 
night / 9 


61 


An Exciting Night 

“Nothing doing, Dr. Clark,” shied Tim. 
“Just hang it in a tree on a string.” 

“Must be one of the Park bears,” said 
Bart. “Heard yesterday one had stolen a 
fruit cake from one of the automobile 
campers at Marble Fork. Later they saw 
a mother bear with two cubs and when she 
saw them she promptly spanked the cubs 
into a tree, and faded into a thicket.” 

So far, so good!— What was Bart’s sur¬ 
prise, as he and Tex were riding along the 
piney path to Giant Forest post-office that 
evening,—their last chance in over a week 
to get mail,—to pass Carlin and Jose 
Mariscal. “You tell her,” they heard Car¬ 
lin’s huge voice just around the turn, “that 
if she wants to clean out of that outfit and 
go on horseback, with a decent guide, we’ll 
let her take all the dunnage she wants to. 
And you can tip off—Hello!” as he saw 
Bart. “I hear you’re going to follow right 
along after my crowd.” 

“Your crowd?” Bart was surprised into 
asking. 


62 Adventures on the High Trail 

“Yes, a crowd that’s going to make a 
r-e-g’lar trip, on horseback, a crowd that 
wanted a guide who knows what he’s 
about,” the big man barked aggressively. 

“All right,” Bart retorted, with a calm 
that infuriated the other, “we can pick up 
any that get left by the wayside.” 

“We’ll see who has to holler for help!” 
roared Carlin, digging spurs into his mount 
and galloping down the trail. The Mexi¬ 
can seemed tempted to follow as Bart leapt 
to the ground. “Here is your knife,” he 
told Mariscal, holding out the weapon with 
which Prince had been cut. “Now get off 
that horse and defend yourself!” But 
Mariscal disappeared like a jack-rabbit.— 
It was long before Bart so much as glimpsed 
him again. 

Tex, who had listened with narrowed 
eyes, now spoke: “Shore looks as if he was 
aimin’ to stir up trouble.—I’m just a-itchin’ 
f’r a mix-up with that red-headed hombre.” 

“So am I!” vowed Bart. 

Breakfast had been eaten in the paling 


63 


An Exciting Night 

dawn; most of the hikers had started on, 
the two crowds mingling fraternally; then 
all but two of the pack-strings had been 
made ready and gotten under way. Carlin 
himself had gone, after one cursory look at 
the whitened mound of ash that was the 
ghost of his last night’s pow-wow fire. 
Bart and Norma remained behind for a 
final inspection: the sites of camp-fire and 
cook-fire had been drenched, and felt cold to 
the palm. Then they swung to their sad¬ 
dles and started on with the pack-train. A 
breeze sprung up: it freshened to a wind 
that blew straight ahead, toward Giant 
Forest. Bart turned to scan the sky.—In 
that instant his eye caught a curl of smoke 
from the direction of their camp-site. His 
heart lost a beat. Could they have failed 
to quench their fires? 

Turning Moro, he dashed back to the 
scene of the dual encampment, Norma close 
at his heels. Even as they pelted down the 
trail, the flame rose in a sheet as high as a 
sapling, and raced before the wind, till a 


64 Adventures on the High Trail 

space as big as a room snapped above the 
needle-strewn floor of the opening. It was 
from Carlin’s side of the encampment that 
the hidden ember had sprung to life, for 
Bart’s fires lay a mass of sodden ashes still. 

Jerking his sweater from the saddle horn, 
and leaving the frightened horse to whirl 
away from the scene, he vaulted to the 
stream and drenched the garment, then be¬ 
gan beating at the edge of flame. Norma 
beat on the other side. Bart tried to work 
along the advancing front, but the smoke 
stung his eyes unbearably, and the flames 
swept out ready to catch at his clothing. 
Seeing a low hanging branch of a pine tree 
crackling redly, he beat that out too. Al¬ 
ready he had blackened the ground beneath. 
Faster they worked. The flame covered a 
smaller space now than when they had ar¬ 
rived. They had it under control. 

It had been but a matter of moments, 
though to the brother and sister, choking 
and burning eyed, it had seemed hours when 
the people from the summer home came rac- 


65 


An Exciting Night 

ing with pails which they filled from the 
creek. In that way, they checked the 
still advancing front. The flying brands 
which kept starting the flame further back 
among the tindered needles were Norma’s 
special charge: for the next hour she was 
busy pouncing upon these mouselike men¬ 
aces before they should magic themselves 
into devouring lions. But there was still 
work for all hands, drenching the charred 
ground, which, two feet deep with pine 
needles, still smoked acridly, reddening ir¬ 
repressibly despite the bucketfuls of water. 
They were about to stop when Bart, making 
assurance doubly sure, felt under the edge 
of the charred brook bank. His hand 
touched a red-hot root! More work! 
Everyone had become blackened with smoke- 
grime, till now they smiled—too breathless 
to laugh—at their fellow fire fighters. The 
chill wind was blowing through their 
drenched clothing and they were stiffening, 
too, till their backs fairly creaked each time 
they stood erect. 


66 Adventures on the High Trail 

A green clad ranger galloped upon the 
scene; the aeroplane patrol had sighted the 
smoke and given the alarm by wireless. A 
crowd made up of most of the hiking party 
began collecting. “Tell you what,” one of 
the men with the water-pails found breath 
to speak: “This would have been a regular 
forest fire by this time! A-headin’ straight 
for the Big Trees, too, in this wind, and 
all-get-out-to-pay!—If it hadn’t a-been for 
Blaisdell, here, and his sister—I tell you! 
—They surely checked it in the nick of time, 
when every calendar minute counted!” 

Bart protested that it was the arrival of 
reinforcements with water-pails that saved 
the day, but he knew the other had spoken 
the truth. 

Then came a stern eyed official inquiring 
as to the cause of the outbreak, and the 
ranger barked his questions pitiless as 
steel. 


CHAPTER IV 


TOIL AND TROUBLE 

E VERYONE knew the seriousness of 
haying been careless with tire within 
National Park boundaries. The fact that, 
had a forest fire got under way in that 
strong wind, the giant Sequoias themselves, 
and all their thousands of years of growth, 
would have been menaced, would detract 
nothing from the sentence of fine or impris¬ 
onment, or both, that awaited the proven 
culprit. 

Carlin stepped forward, from somewhere 
in the heart of the throng of onlookers. 
Bart was surprised to think that he had 
the courage to face the charge, but he was 
to have a still greater surprise. 

Carlin spoke to the officer. “He was a 
fool to try guiding, with his inexperience,” 
he bellowed, in apparent indignation at 
Bart. “I told him, before ever he started 

67 


68 Adventures on the High Trail 

out, that he wasn’t jit to handle a responsi¬ 
bility like that. I knew something would 
happen! I knew it! ” 

All eyes were now turned on Bart, who 
stood too thunder-struck at Carlin’s impli¬ 
cation to utter a word. 

“You remember,” he addressed his rival 
directly now, “I told you the trip would 
come to grief! As sure as shooting! And 
now look—” 

Bart strode forward, revitalized. “Do 
you know, Mr. Ranger, who let that fire 
start ?—Here is where our fire was,” and 
he strode to the mound of soaked embers. 

‘ 4 Am I right, folks ?” he cried. 44 Did you 
girls sit along that log last night when you 
sang?” There was ample testimony. 

“ I guess that clears you!” decided the 
ranger. 

44 Where was your fire?” he demanded of 
Carlin. 

That heedless one tried hard to put up a 
bluff, but was out-witnessed. He would 
have to stand trial next month. It was only 


Toil and Trouble 


69 


by paying heavy bail that he secured the 
right to finish his trip. One more offense, 
he was warned, would deprive him of the 
right to camp in Park territory. Carlin 
favored Bart with a parting scowl as black 
as if Bart had been to blame for it all. 

“Well, Bart, all signs point to a good 
trip,” Norma exulted, cantering down the 
trail, her yellow hair flying. “So much de¬ 
pends on the right spirit.” 

“We’ve got a couple of chronic kickers, 
though,” said Bart. 

“I refuse to worry about anyone but Car¬ 
lin.” Norma squared her chin. “After 
what he’d done to others that tried to break 
his monopoly, he won’t stop at anything to 
make things harder for us.” 

“You’ve said it,” Bart gloomed, “and 
we’ve sure got a lot of folks on our hands 
for whom we are responsible.” 

“If he wants Mrs. Progg,” Norma rallied 
him, “for goodness’ sake, let her go!— 
Only we won’t have any such luck!— But 


70 Adventures on the High Trail 

we’ve a dandy crowd on the whole. And 
the only two people we absolutely couldn’t 
spare are the cooks. If Carlin just doesn’t 
get those treasures away from us!” 

“And if we can only get across the 
Kern,” worried Bart. “The ranger’s sent 
in word that the water’s extra high this 
summer, on account of last spring’s heavy 
snow-falls.” That night found them en¬ 
camped at Alta Meadows: the ambitious 
climbed Alta Peak. 

“Hey, Bart,” asked Nutting, when a 
group of perhaps a dozen stopped that noon 
to eat their pocket lunches beside a little 
stream. “How are we going to get across 
the Kern? There’s no bridge? Every¬ 
one’s wondering if we’ll have to swim it.” 

“Yes,” spoke up Martha Hatch, “Mrs. 
Progg says that Mr. Carlin told her there’s 
no way of getting across, except on horse¬ 
back, or ’way down South.” 

“I know,” jollied Dr. Clark. “We’ll see 
how deep it is in the middle, and then we’ll 
measure the crowd, and anyone whose nose 


Toil and Trouble 


71 


doesn’t come above high water mark can 
ride pick-a-back on one of the taller mem¬ 
bers. Miss Norma, here, will probably have 
to be carried across, but I think Sister 
Hatch can wade right through without get¬ 
ting her bathing cap wet.” He led the 
laugh that followed. 

Martha Hatch, however, did not laugh. 
“Indeed, and I shall do no such thing. 
Why, the current would carry me off my 
feet!—I never heard of such a thing!— 
Really, I’ve a mind to start right back, 
if—” 

“It is possible,” Bart acknowledged as 
he lounged against a tree trunk, “that the 
spring floods may have lodged enough drift¬ 
wood and debris somewhere that we can use 
it as the foundation of a natural bridge. 
They had no trouble last year.” 

“Who’s going to carry me?” demanded 
rotund Mrs. Progg, darting her head around 
in time to see the glance of mock dismay 
exchanged by two of the men behind her. 

“Look a’ here,” asserted Bart, absent- 


72 Adventures on the High Trail 

mindedly drawing lines in the soft earth 
with a stick. “I undertook to get you 
across that river, and I’ll do it.” 

“D-d-dry-shod?” insisted Martha Hatch. 

“Dry-shod!” promised Bart, getting to 
his feet and striding off to his horse dis¬ 
gustedly. 

It was at a private conference that even¬ 
ing that he explained his plan to Nutting 
and a group of half a dozen of the men. 
He himself had no doubt of being able to 
cross, but the rumor started by Carlin con¬ 
tinued to circulate. 

Next day took them steeply down through 
red limbed manzanita thickets that reached 
to their chests, and thorny, fragrant buck¬ 
brush now white with blossoms. Up, and 
down again, through Bear Paw Meadow, 
and along Buck Canyon to the green-flow¬ 
ing Kaweah, 1 which the hikers crossed on a 
log, then over a smaller tributary stream, 
till finally the crowd got in to Red¬ 
wood Meadow famished and muscle-weary, 


i Pronounce Ka-we'-ah. 


Toil and Trouble 


73 


just at dusk. But Norma had worked out 
her system, and a hot meal was ready to be 
served. 

She had so planned that the mules that 
carried the stove and needed provisions 
were started first in the morning and so got 
in to camp several hours before dinner¬ 
time. The China boys promptly set the 
stove up on logs, and got ready a good sup¬ 
ply of fire-wood. Tubs and pails were next 
filled at the river and put on to heat, an 
extra fire or so being built between stones 
for heating water. The dishes, dusty from 
the day on the trail, were rinsed, and the 
dehydrated foods put to soak. Then a big 
log was flattened on top to serve as cafeteria 
counter. When the meal was finally cooked 
and the bake-pans and kettles ranged along 
the log, Norma asked the first two women to 
reach camp if they would help her. If 
everyone volunteered in turn, it would mean 
volunteering for two dinners and two break¬ 
fasts only. 

Three days of the trip had passed with no 


74 Adventures on the High Trail 

more serious fatality than the demise of 
Mrs. Progg’s straw hat. She had been 
standing too near Tinker and that little ras¬ 
cal had suddenly taken a fancy for the tid¬ 
bit and it had gently disappeared from her 
head. By the time she had ceased to 
wonder which way the wind had blown it, 
the last delicious remnant of brim was rap¬ 
idly disappearing. Norma could just im¬ 
agine Tinker’s gaze of injured innocence at 
Mrs. Progg’s wrath. Fortunately the lady 
had also brought a cloth hat. 

The way now led up Cliff Creek to a pic¬ 
turesque peninsula formed by a bend of the 
river. Around them towered encircling 
peaks, and within easy distance for a bath¬ 
ing party lay two little willow fringed lakes, 
too shallow to be cold, one for the men and 
one for the women. The next day most of 
the crowd climbed Sawtooth Peak, (that 
landmark that had seemed so far away 
from Giant Forest), stopping at Columbine 
Lake, where the tall yellow columbines 
grew on the very edge of the snowfield and 


rrrr 



Around them towered encircling peaks. 







































' 

. 
























Toil and Trouble 


75 


the snow was pink from a fungus growth 
that grew in the dust of its surface. The 
day after came the stiff climb on Black 
Rock Pass, on a stony trail that zigzagged 
breathlessly. Here Dr. Clark claimed 
merrily to have met a new species, the 
whiff- ’n ’-puff- ’n ’-pants. The view was suf¬ 
ficient reward, and going down the other 
side was easy for those who seized the 
opportunity to slide down the long snow 
banks, though more than one of the coasters 
eventually appeared with a patch on the 
seat of his riding breeches. Bart had a 
very much less jolly time with the mules, a 
few of whom went coasting without inten¬ 
tion on either their part or Bart’s. 
Eventually everyone reached the camp at 
Little Five Lakes Basin. 

There had been no foot-prints in the snow 
nor any sign that they were not the first to 
pass this way since the winter snows had 
filled the canyon with fifty feet of white, for 
the open season—when the passes were not 
choked with snow—was only about six 


76 Adventures on the High Trail 

weeks long in the high Sierras. Here on 
the shore of the string of tiny lakes, reflect¬ 
ing their fringe of fox-tail pines, Tim and 
other fishermen of the party—for Tim was 
making good his boast,—brought in all the 
trout they could eat. By this time the 
nightly garbage pail would be almost empty 
after a meal, to such proportions had those 
mountain appetites grown. As each mem¬ 
ber finished eating, he emptied his plate 
into the pail set out for the purpose, in 
accordance with Norma’s system, and then 
he—or she—swabbed it off with a long 
handled dish mop in the tub of hot soapy 
water, and dropped it into another tub of 
scalding rinse water for the China boys to 
dry. It was all perfectly simple. Those 
who wanted a second helping stood in a “ re¬ 
peat line,”—which grew, and grew. 

The next day it rained, and a crowd 
that struggled valiantly into wet hiking- 
boots and carried dunnage-bags heavy with 
dampness to the pack-train picked a pre¬ 
carious footing along a wet and slippery 


Toil and Trouble 


77 


trail, crossing the Big Arroyo on uncertain 
logs, wading the boggy meadows, and drag¬ 
ging up the steep trail to Sky Meadows. 
Thanks to Norma’s and Dr. Clark’s ef¬ 
forts to keep everyone in a merry mood, 
those who took a tumble were the most hi¬ 
larious. Some, who had not worn felt hats, 
had improvised head-gear from their tin or 
canvas wash-basins, a few strode wrapped 
like Indians in their lean-tos, and a few 
looked gnome-like in their home-made tent- 
silk parkas,—stiff hooded over-shirts that 
reached to the knee. Snap-shots were taken 
and merry badinage exchanged. On the 
high plateau, the sun smiled once more, and 
the breeze dried them out, and the moisture 
soaked quickly away under foot, as is the 
way in the dry, open California woodlands, 
leaving them nothing but their creaking 
bones to complain of, while they ate their 
lunches on the flower-enameled sands. Now 
came a real difficulty,—though it would not 
have been one had the scattered groups kept 
together. 


78 Adventures on the High Trail 

In order to reach the camp on Moraine 
Lake, where they were to spend several days 
resting and cleaning up, or climbing the 
Kaweahs, while Bart saw to the bridging of 
the Kern, it was necessary to cross Cha- 
goopa Plateau. Heretofore there had been, 
as a rule, but one trail, and it had been al¬ 
most impossible to go astray, but the 
Plateau was different: foot trails, horse 
trails, and cow-paths, too, wound here and 
there in a labyrinth. Two girls got lost. 
Of a sudden they realized that they were off 
the trail. At its last branching they had 
followed the hob-nailed foot-prints rather 
than the cloven-hoofed, assuming that who¬ 
ever had gone that way had been heading 
for the Lake. Now these foot-prints turned 
back as if it had proven the wrong trail, 
and soon lost themselves in a swampy place; 
and circle as they would, the girls could find 
no further trace of anything but cattle- 
paths. They could not even find their way 
back the way they had come. The Plateau 
was too level for an outlook, and too closely 


Toil and Trouble 


79 


forested for a view. They shouted but no 
one answered. Their trail map was of little 
use, for they had no compass. The after¬ 
noon was waning. By and by they came to 
a meadow, and in its midst was a herd of 
steers. Though they knew these were not 
bulls, they were timid about passing through 
the herd. They did not know that a shaken 
stick would put them to flight. On the far 
side of the meadow they could see a small 
log cabin, and they shouted, hoping to at¬ 
tract the attention of its inmates and inquire 
their way, but—as they later discovered— 
the cabin was untenanted. At last they de¬ 
cided to try a smoke signal. 

This, in time, brought Norma from the 
Lake, which it seems was not ten minutes 
distant, and from the opposite direction it 
summoned a handsome young Forest Ranger 
in official green. His voice was cultivated, 
and his manner courteous in the extreme, but 
his face was deeply tanned from exposure to 
the weather. His features combined a de¬ 
termined chin and eyes that gazed in appre- 


80 Adventures on the High Trail 

ciation at the silver lake, with its back¬ 
ground of sunset-tinted peaks reflected 
along the curve of the opposite shore. The 
camp-site was ten thousand feet in altitude, 
but Red Kaweah reared its granite dome 
full four thousand feet above. 

Norma invited Ranger Hope to spend the 
evening around the bonfire with them and 
give the Club a talk on the work of the 
Forest Service. The evening ended with 
the singing of the Club song, and the weary 
hikers lighted their electric flashes to find 
their way to bed. The evening was not yet 
over for Norma, who sat talking with the 
ranger while the fire sank lower.—IJcelli, 
too, played his violin softly on the far side 
of the reddened logs.—Hope, it seemed, had 
had the six years forestry course, and meant 
to devote his life to the service. 

If nothing more pressing demanded his 
services, he promised to escort them along 
such part of their way as lay within his ter¬ 
ritory. Since the fire at Giant Forest, he 


Toil and Trouble 81 

had been warned to keep an eye on Car¬ 
lin. 

The Forest Service, he said, was mighty 
stern with incendiaries. It had hailed 
into court two young men a couple of years 
before who had tried to take every precau¬ 
tion by building their cook-fire in a circle 
of earth scraped free—as they supposed— 
of inflammable material and fenced around 
with stones. Building the fire on stones 
and then quenching it with water is the only 
safe way, he told her, where the pine needles 
have made the soil. Thinking they had 
quenched their fire with earth, and neglect¬ 
ing to lay a hand on the spot to see if it 
was still warm, they had left, next morn¬ 
ing; but as an actual fact a few lingering 
sparks had been buried, and after smoulder¬ 
ing for hours, had crept under the barrier 
of stones and into the surrounding needles; 
and when the departing hikers looked back 
from a neighboring peak, they saw the 
woods burst into flame. The two boys had 


82 Adventures on the High Trail 

raced back and fought fire all that day, 
and all the night that followed; they had 
trenched and back-fired, and beat at the 
burning needle floor with wet coats, until 
finally a band of fire-fighters had arrived,— 
for the fire outlooks stationed throughout 
the Forests see every blaze within miles and 
report it to the ranger stations by tele¬ 
phone.— By their prompt efforts the boys 
had at least kept the damage within certain 
bounds, but even had they not stayed to face 
the consequences, the damage could have 
been traced to them, because the movements 
of every camper on the Forests are known 
to the officials. The telescopes of the fire- 
outlooks see the smoke of every camp-fire, 
then of course there is the Air Patrol, to 
say nothing of the rangers themselves. 

As it happened, these two young men got 
off with a moderate fine, since they were 
able to prove the precautions they had 
taken, and especially in view of their heroic 
action in trying to put out the fire. A 


Toil and Trouble 


83 


second offense on Carlin’s part would go 
hard with him. 

The next two days, while a fire was kept 
going under one of the tubs down by the 
Lake, where you “put in a pail of *cold for 
every pail of hot you take out, and get an¬ 
other stick for the fire,” certain members of 
the party had a general clean-up celebration. 
Others went fishing on the Big Arroyo, or 
essayed the gruelling climb of Red Kaweah. 
A few went on ahead with Bart to see what 
could be done about crossing the Kern. 

About this time a rumor began to spread 
through camp at Ucelli’s expense. It seems 
that he had confided the matter to a man, 
and that villain had confided in his wife, 
and his wife had sprung the laugh on the 
girls’ camp, until every one knew what had 
happened to the shy young violinist, that 
dark night after the fire. Having no can¬ 
dle lantern nor electric flash at his com¬ 
mand, the young man had gathered up his 
dunnage-bag, which by reason of his hav- 


84 Adventures on the High Trail 

ing been requisitioned to help Mrs. Clark 
at commissary he had not yet established in 
the men’s sleeping quarters, and in the dark¬ 
ness of the pine woods had tried to find his 
way among the sleeping-bags. After hav¬ 
ing stumbled over several sleepers, he fi¬ 
nally decided to unroll his bag without go¬ 
ing further, and folding his outer clothing 
under his head for a pillow, he was soon 
asleep. Waking at dawn as the get-up call 
went the rounds, imagine his consternation 
to discover himself in the very middle of 
the girls’ camp!— Instantly covering his 
head with his quilts, he lay there, not dar¬ 
ing to move till, by the sounds, he judged 
that the last woman had gone to breakfast. 
This seemingly harmless episode was to 
bear fruit later on. 

“Have a bite with us,” insisted Carlin, 
in his big voice, with a seeming cordiality 
that completely deceived Martha Hatch. 
“We were just saying that you must be one 
of the champion hikers of the Sequoia Club, 
from the easy way you swing along.” 


Toil and Trouble 


85 


Thus encouraged, Martha Hatch told nu¬ 
merous details of camp life, including the 
joke on Ucelli. 

“You see,” he asked his crowd, with a 
peculiar look, “what the Sequoia Club is 
like?—And then they ask for appro¬ 
priations to build trails through here!” 

A few of the fishermen conceived the idea 
on this second day of combining sport with 
public service by transplanting some of the 
far-famed Golden Trout of the smaller 
streams to the untenanted waters of the 
Lake. Tim had the enviable post of assist¬ 
ing the newcomers on their pioneer expedi¬ 
tion into the unknown waters of their new 
home. First the huge can of water in 
which they had traveled after having been 
gently removed from the hook was aerated 
by pouring in driblets of water from a short 
distance above the can. This also made the 
gradual change of temperature necessary 
for their constitutions. Now the contents 
of the milk-can was slowly, ever so slowly 
poured into the shallows of the cove where 


86 Adventures on the High Trail 

its inmates were to begin their venture. 
The livelier fish went darting straight off 
into the camouflage of the deep water far¬ 
ther out, apparently overjoyed at their re¬ 
lease. A few became confused as they 
found themselves gently spilled out of the 
can, and swam under the shadow of the 
nearest rock. These Tim gently prodded 
back into open water, turning them about if 
they headed towards shore. A few lay for 
awhile as if stunned, or more likely suffo¬ 
cated, but after awhile their gills would be¬ 
gin to vibrate, and suddenly they would 
swim off like the rest. A few, also, lay 
floating on their sides, and did not recover 
which were removed, but out of perhaps a 
hundred, these numbered only six. Most of 
the transplanting would live, and thrive, 
and multiply. 

On the third morning at the Lake, dun¬ 
nage-bags were packed, and loaded on the 
mule-strings, and an early breakfast eaten, 
for a long day lay before them. Back past 


Toil and Trouble 


87 


the meadow and the log cabin Norma led 
them with Tinker at her heels, on whom 
she had thoughtfully packed an emergency 
ration, in case the mules should be delayed 
in getting across the Kern. For that she 
would never be sufficiently thankful, though 
at the time she had felt that she was prob¬ 
ably absurd in acting on her hunch. Kern 
Canyon was thirty miles long and its walls 
rose half a mile into the sky. Though the 
going would be almost on the level, once they 
had crossed to the Canyon floor, there would 
be no place for such a delegation to camp— 
no pasturage for the animals—till they 
reached Junction Meadows. The crossing 
of the river would also take time. 

The Kern River, the only large stream in 
the Sierras that flows south instead of 
west, lies in a Yosemite-like gorge so 
straight that from many points they would 
pass that day, they would be able to view 
nearly its entire length. Over its castel¬ 
lated cliffs, often pink with iron ore, pour 


88 Adventures on the High Trail 

waterfalls thousands of feet high, while 
through the forested Canyon floor rolls the 
broad sweep of transparent water. 

From the Lake, the way led down over a 
slope jeweled with scarlet flowers. Bart 
had chosen a place where the great river 
branched around some tiny islands, mere 
stranded debris some of them, where they 
would have eight smaller streams to cross, 
instead of the one big one. The water was 
seldom more than two feet deep, but it 
boiled down-grade in white cascades. Logs 
had been felled to bridge the gaps from 
islet to islet. Some of the logs were a little 
wobbly, and a few of the Club were not 
skilled at walking logs, but the men would 
stand, one at each end, holding their long 
walking sticks so that the woman who was 
crossing could hold fast to the one stick till, 
at mid-stream, she could reach the other. 
Where a log was too long for that, Mr. Nut¬ 
ting and one or two others waded right in, 
nearly hip deep in the icy water, and gave 
a hand at the treacherous places. In that 


Toil and Trouble 


89 


way, most of the hikers got across dry-shod 
and ready for the long day’s hike ahead of 
them. Mrs. Progg refused to try the logs, 
but Norma let her ford the stream on her 
horse. 

It was with the animals that the trouble 
came. Norma got her string of commis¬ 
sary mules across, thanks to little Tinker’s 
leadership,—all but the mule who carried 
the stove and tools. His pack would have 
risen too high, anyway, for certain places 
on the trail, as Bart reported, till the over¬ 
hanging limbs could be cut away. She left 
them struggling with the rest of the pack- 
train. The last thing she saw was Beverse 
balking to such purpose that his feet slipped 
from under him, on the water-worn stones, 
and he fell on his side, pack and all. In¬ 
deed, he would have been washed away in 
the sweep of the current had not Tex 
dragged him bodily to the other shore. 

A man with a burro was trying to cross 
from the other direction, and it looked as 
if he might pull the animal’s head off be- 


90 Adventures on the High Trail 

fore lie could make him take to water. 
4 ‘The best way to get a burro across , 99 
laughed Tex, “is to take a mother burro 
and her colt, and then carry the colt across 
in your arms, and she will follow.” This 
advice did not help the case in question. 

The afternoon was a miracle of beauty. 
At last they left the broad green bend of the 
narrowing river for a trail that led to a 
meadow lying lush at the foot of a mighty 
falls, perfumed with the sweetness of 
a vast bed of tiger lilies. A forest of pine 
trees fringed the opening, around which— 
like a mammoth ampitheatre—towered the 
savage cliffs of the Kern-Kaweah Canyon. 
Here again they were to camp for two 
nights, while the hardier mountaineers of 
the party climbed those mighty peaks of 
the Kings-Kern divide,—Milestone, Table 
and Thunder Mountains. After that would 
come Mt. Whitney, which everyone would 
try. A few might also venture Tyndall and 
Williamson, which, though not quite so high 


Toil and Trouble 


91 


as Whitney, were—in the ease of William¬ 
son at least—far more difficult, by reason of 
its jagged face, cleft deep with dangerous 
chimneys. There was one chimney on Mt. 
Whitney that would have to be essayed, but 
no rope work would be necessary. 

Sundown found a crowd of fifty 
hikers muscle-weary and aching for rest, 
and literally faint with hunger. Norma 
decided not to wait for the pack-train, with 
its cook-stove, but to get something under 
way at once. Directing the China boys to 
build a series of little cook-fires between 
two logs, and prepare a bundle of willow 
sticks with charred ends, she gave each one 
as he arrived some sliced bacon to toast 
over the coals for himself, a handful of 
crackers and a dessert of the candy-like 
dried pears, while everyone could help him¬ 
self from the steaming coffee-pots. For¬ 
tunately, each one had carried his tin cup 
on his belt that day, and not even Martha 
Hatch complained of the lack oi dishes. 


92 Adventures on the High Trail 

The crisp sandwiches were delicious, eaten 
around the cook-fire, and every one drank 
cup after cup of coffee, knowing that it 
would take more than that to keep them 
awake that night. 

So far, so good, Norma acknowledged- 
hut when would the pack-train come? Al¬ 
ready dark had fallen, and at this elevation 
the nights were cold. In Mr. Nutting’s ab¬ 
sence, some of the other men were starting 
a good bonfire. Could it be that Bart had 
been unable to get all the animals across 
the Kern? Were they still at the ford, 
struggling with one stubborn animal after 
the other ? Or had there been an accident ? 
More likely, she reassured herself, they had 
merely been delayed, and were still picking 
their way along the darkening trail. 
There were several bad places, and if they 
had not passed those by now, it would be 
almost impossible to do so after night¬ 
fall. 

At any rate, they were faced by a night 
without their sleeping-bags. 


Toil and Trouble 93 

Carlin would make stock of that. He 
would spread the rumor far and wide, to 
Bart’s detriment. Small hope now, Norma 
told herself, for next year’s trip! 


CHAPTER V 


A MATTER OF SPORTSMANSHIP 

N ORMA eyed the weary group around 
the bonfire. Too tired to sing to¬ 
night, they were just waiting till the dun¬ 
nage-bags arrived so that they could go to 
bed. 

Someone struck up merrily, 

“Oh, where, oh, where has our pack-train gone? 
Oh, where, oh where can it be?” 

Another was ready with: 

“There*s a long, long nail a-grinding 
Into the sole of my shoe; 

It’s ground its way into my foot 
About a yard or two,” 

and so on with local improvisations. 

They sang till ten o’clock, and then 
the faint, far-away tinkle of bells 

94 


A Matter of Sportmanship 95 

announced that at least one pack-string was 
arriving, and with a cheer the whole group 
rose to see whose bags had come. It was 
Tex, leading a string of five dunnage mules 
and the one who carried the cook-stove. 
He knew nothing of the others, as he had 
been too far ahead to see them on the back- 
trail, but he gave it as his opinion that they 
had been too long delayed at the river to 
make it into camp that night. He himself 
had covered the bad parts of the trail before 
dark, prodding his animals along without 
mercy, so that the less hardy of the party at 
least might not spend the night on the cold 
ground. With five bags to a mule, there 
were now twenty-five dunnage-bags out of 
fifty-eight at their command. Norma ex¬ 
plained the situation, suggesting that those 
whose bags had come could share with those 
who had none. 

The bags were too narrow for two 
people for most of them had been made by 
doubling two wool batting quilts lengthwise 
and sewing each up separately, lining the 


96 Adventures on the High Trail 

inner one with brown flannel and covering 
the outer one with waterproof silk, then 
slipping one inside the other for the aver¬ 
age cool night. These bags could be slipped 
apart and one layer used by each of two 
people. Of course they would not be warm 
enough, but they would be better than noth¬ 
ing, and a huge bonfire could be kept going, 
and everyone sleep around it in their cloth¬ 
ing. 

They all wore winter wear, with flannel 
shirts and cloth or khaki riding-breeches, 
woolen sox, heavy sweaters, and silk ban¬ 
dannas (which made excellent night-caps). 
A change of launderables, with one suit 
each of flannel pyjamas, canteen and tin 
wash basin, electric flash or candle-lantern, 
kodak and fishing tackle, bathing suit and 
toilet articles made up the contents of most 
of the dunnage-bags, so that there was little 
leeway. However, the duffle was divided, 
and a dozen of the men dragged in a mam¬ 
moth log fully two feet thick that would 
keep the night fire going, with the help 


A Matter of Sportmanship 97 

of smaller down-wood. Other logs were 
dragged in for wind-breaks, to make a cir¬ 
cle of warmth that nearly filled the clear¬ 
ing, and everyone turned in, as best they 
might. 

It happened, that Mrs. Progg was one 
whose hag had not come, and to Norma she 
intimated that she would pay well for a bed 
if anyone would rent or sell his to her, but 
for once her money was no good. She had 
reached a country where fifty dollars would 
not buy her a new hob-nail, if someone else 
needed it worse, and Norma insisted that in 
such an emergency, the only fair way was 
to share what there was with everyone 
alike. 

Lying nearest the fire, Norma alternately 
toasted her back while she froze on the 
other side, and froze her back when she 
rolled over. Many of the crowd, being 
less high strung, slept fairly well. With 
the first graying of the blackness, she was 
up making coffee, and one after another 
joined her, stiff and chilled, for the steam- 


98 Adventures on the High Trail 

ing cup she proffered. That put heart into 
the crowd, and they were able to laugh at 
the sleepers, who were discovered, some of 
them, in the most ridiculous positions, Mr. 
Nutting’s head pillowed on a girl’s feet, 
and the violinist unconsciously huddled 
close to Mrs. Clark to keep his back warm. 
The Doctor merrily took a snap-shot of 
them by an improvised flash-light, for the 
sun had not yet risen. 

The China boys quickly set the stove in 
working order and by sun-up had fried ham 
and corn-bread ready for the fast-forming 
breakfast line. Norma looked them over, 
crumpled and lined with weariness. 

“Now I suppose Bart’s done for,” she 
was thinking, when Mrs. Clark appeared. 
“Folks,” she called out in her full, motherly 
voice, her cheeks as ruddy as ever, “we had 
a test of sportsmanship to meet last night, 
and I think we will agree that everyone met 
it in the right spirit. What is more, I’ll 
venture that next winter, when we’re all 
back safe and sound in the hum-drum daily 


A Matter of S portmanship 99 

round, we are going to look back upon last 
night as one of the joiliest experiences of 
the trip.” 

“You bet!” yelled Mr. Nutting, beating 
his spoon upon his tin cup. “All in favor 
signify—” His merry din was repeated 
down the line, till even Martha Hatch had 
joined in. Norma had to swallow hard to 
keep tears of relief out of her eyes. 

The day warmed, and some of the fisher¬ 
men strode off to test the well-stocked 
streams of the region. Norma and a few 
others wearily spread their bags in the sun 
and made up their lost sleep. The China 
boys prepared a special treat—jam tarts— 
for luncheon. 

Shortly after ten, Bart got in with a 
string of mules, Morg followed an hour 
later, then the Indian and his cousin. It 
had been as Tex surmised: the stubborn ani¬ 
mals had so delayed them at the ford that 
darkness had overtaken them on the trail. 
When Bart had tried to push on ahead, one 
of the mules had slipped and fallen into the 


100 Adventures on the High Trail 

river, which was here swift and deep, and 
it was only by cutting the rope that he had 
saved the rest of the string from being 
dragged in after him. In the inky dark¬ 
ness before moonrise, he had heard the un¬ 
lucky animal floundering about with his 
heavy pack (it was a commissary mule), 
and Bart had lighted a torch, expecting to 
see him drowning. The mule had used 
his heels to such excellent purpose that he 
had kicked himself free of his load, and 
though the pack went swirling down stream, 
the wiry animal had scrambled back up the 
bank. Bart had therefore camped right on 
the trail, but the experience had meant 
the loss of the supplies, and they could ill 
spare them. He was thankful that they 
had cached extra rations at Yidette. 

The incoming mail, as well as the chance 
to send letters out, had been promised the 
Club for Junction Meadows, and Bart had 
arranged with a boy at Independence to 
ride in and meet them here. The same boy 
was to bring Carlin’s mail, but up to the 


A Matter of Sportmanship 101 

morning of leaving, no such boy had ar¬ 
rived. 

“I must get word to my wife,” Nut¬ 
ting told Bart anxiously, as he sharpened 
an axe preparatory to helping the China 
boy 'chop wood for the breakfast fire. 
‘ 6 She ’ll worry—she’s that kind,—she ’ll 
worry herself sick for fear something has 
happened to us.” 

“Mother will worry too,” Norma re¬ 
flected aloud, as she set the stacks of plates 
and cups in place,—“not because she’s 
afraid anything has happened to us chil¬ 
dren, but because she’ll wonder what has 
gone wrong with the Club schedule.” 

Someone else remembered, “And to think 
I had a ten-pound box of chocolates ordered 
that ought to reach here about now!—We ’re 
outa luck, folks!” 

“Chocolates!” echoed everyone within 
earshot, longingly, for by this time the hik¬ 
ers had an insatiable craving for sweets. 
Their constant muscular exertion was be¬ 
ginning to make them all wonder anxiously 


102 Adventures on the High Trail 

if anyone would think to send them candy. 

“Oh!—And Sister was going to mail me 
a cake!” wailed Martha Hatch, who was 
puttering around in her bedroom slippers 
waiting to ask someone to draw a nail from 
her boot sole. 

“What!—Aren’t we going to get our 
mail?” demanded Mrs. Progg, shoving her 
way into the midst of the group, a pre¬ 
breakfast cup of coffee in her hand. She 
always drank two, regardless of whether 
there was more than enough to go around 
or not, while behind her, others were mur¬ 
muring disappointedly. 

“It will come,” soothed Mrs. Clark, lay¬ 
ing a quieting hand on Martha Hatch’s 
shoulder. “I want to hear how our kiddies 
are getting along, too. We’ll surely have 
it by the time we get back from Mt. Whit¬ 
ney.” 

“What’s all this?” demanded a jovial 
voice behind them, as Dr. Clark came up, 
his eyes twinkling merrily from under his 
piratical black brows. “What’s all the 


A Matter of Sportmanship 103 

shooting about? as they said in the play. 
—Has someone put salt in the coffee?” as 
his eye fell on Mrs. Progg’s cup. 

“The mail hasn’t come,” Norma ex¬ 
plained with a cheer she did not feel. “But 
—we hope it will catch up with us at Crab¬ 
tree.” They were to spend the night at 
Crabtree Meadows before climbing Mt. 
Whitney. “I am going to leave a note 
pinned to a tree so the boy will know where 
to follow us.” 

“Well,” laughed the doctor, “we have 
survived this far without the mail, and I 
expect we can stand it for another day or 
two.” 

“But you promised—” Mrs. Progg de¬ 
parted, elbowing her way back out of the 
group as she spied the China boys taking a 
steaming pan of something savory from the 
oven. Dark looks were cast after her, but 
failed to pierce her plump back. 

“We’ve still got breakfast to look for¬ 
ward to, folks,” cheered the doctor merrily. 
“Get in line, there, before Miss Janet eats 


104 Adventures on the High Trail 

it all up,” for that slim little body had vis¬ 
ibly plumped up since the trip began. 

A familiar melody began drawing nearer 
through the trees. 

“Where they eat a man for breakfast 
Every morning in the year,” 

and Tim thrust his tow head into the group. 

i ‘Ill bet you,” he declared breathlessly, 
when he had learned the situation, “I’ll just 
bet you I could ride down to Independence 
while you were climbin’ Whitney, ’n’ meet 
you again before you got over Shepherd’s 
Pass. I could!” 

“No, you couldn’t,” Bart stated emphat¬ 
ically. “You don’t know the trail, and 
there’s trails every which way, around here. 
You’d sure get yourself lost, and then we’d 
have to get up a search party, on top of 
everything else.” 

“We appreciate the thought, old man,” 
Norma beamed at him, remembering her 
mother’s advice about Tim’s boastfulness. 

The trail Norma chose to Crabtree Mead- 


A Matter of Sportmanship 105 

ows was a shorter one than that Bart would 
have to take with the pack-train, but it was 
a good deal steeper, until they got up to a 
sandy plateau. The heavy weights were 
soon left at the tail of the procession. 
*‘Good work!” the doctor told a slim girl 
who never seemed to get out of breath. He 
felt her pulse. “Do you know that you 
have one asset that would make a champion 
mountain climber of you, if you had more 
muscular endurance? 

“You are one of those people whose 
pulse is a little below normal. For that 
reason, you won’t get so winded in the 
high altitudes as the average huskier 
specimen. Poor Mrs. Progg is just the op¬ 
posite,—but the trip is taking so many 
pounds off of her that I don’t mind, so long 
as she stops often to get her heart slowed 
down to normal.” 

The girls got in to Crabtree in time to 
put on their bathing-suits and clean up at 
the river, below commissary, while the 
men preempted the swimming-hole, further 


106 Adventures on the High Trail 

down, in the willows. That made everyone 
feel better. Here the sleeping quarters were 
the poorest yet. Where it was level, it 
was almost swampy from recently melted 
snow. Anything was better than that. 
The dry ground was the slope of the hills, 
where it was all they could do to find a level 
spot large enough for one sleeping bag in 
a place, and even that spot had to be 
leveled off and reinforced on the down side. 
Norma gaily vowed she would roll down 
hill, though she had chosen a place where, if 
she did, she would roll into a tree. The 
night promised to be chilly, too, but there 
was plenty of down-wood for dressing-fires, 
and the woods were soon blossoming cheer¬ 
ily with little individual fires. As the din¬ 
ner line stood waiting beside the stream, an 
ouzel, utterly indifferent to their presence, 
preened his feathers and danced in and out 
of the water in his search for insects, to 
everyone’s amazed delight. Norma felt 
grateful to the little bird for adding that 
much to the pleasure of the trip. 


A Matter of Sportmanship 107 

The climb next day up this highest—but 
by no means hardest peak in the United 
States was more of an endurance test than 
a demand for skilled mountaineering. 
Much of it lay along a plain trail in the 
broken rock that switched back and forth 
endlessly. Once above timber line, there 
was very little view to compensate till the 
very top was reached. The gray rock was 
often as fine as hard coal, though boulders 
became more plentiful as they neared the 
summit. Everyone was buoyed along by 
an overwhelming curiosity to see what lay 
beyond the ridge that cut the sky-line. 
They would be able to see for several hun¬ 
dred miles. 

Before they came to the upper trail, 
there was one chimney that had to be nego¬ 
tiated, still, it was hardly a narrow enough 
aperture to make a real chimney: it was 
only called so because of the comparative 
difficulty of its ascent. 

Carlin’s crowd had made camp further 
up Crabtree Creek. Most of the Club had 


108 Adventures on the High Trail 

eaten breakfast before dawn, as it was to 
be a long day, and by the time Norma had 
finished at commissary, they were far ahead 
of her. 

An hour later she could see some of the 
climbers, mere black specks that zig-zagged 
like a row of ants, high on the granite slope. 
Suddenly a white envelope fluttered to 
her feet. It was addressed to Carlin, and 
post-marked three days before! Then his 
mail had come. Why not Bart’s? 

She remembered that there were said to 
be three chimneys on that side of the moun¬ 
tain,—two so narrow that one could get 
a hand-and foot-hold on both sides at once. 
Bart had said that the one he would lead 
them over would be merely a matter of 
scrambling sure-footedly, but by no means 
dangerously. Which one was the right 
one? 

Trying out the left-hand chimney be¬ 
cause it seemed in the most direct line with 
the peak, she rounded a turn and saw a girl 
waving frantically to her. The girl seemed 


A Matter of S portmanship 109 

to have her foot caught in a crack. She was 
weeping. Norma started to the rescue. She 
soon found herself obliged to cling with all 
fours to the merest cracks in the perpendicu¬ 
lar granite of first one side, then the other 
of the narrowing crevice. Once she slipped, 
and sent a big rock volleying down along 
the way she had come. She remembered 
that Tex had told her they would shoot a 
man for doing that in Alaska, and for a mo¬ 
ment she was terrified at the thought that 
there might be someone below her, who 
might be struck, and killed by the velocity 
of the bounding missle, yet she knew she 
was the last to start the climb. 

Prom the sun, and her appetite, she 
judged it must be near noon, and she hur¬ 
ried, for the plan had been to lunch on the 
summit. Seeing that she could get no¬ 
where the way she was headed, she leapt 
back among the rocks at the base of the 
cliff. It started a miniature rock slide, and 
she thought how easy it would have been to 
sprain her ankle by a jump like that. 


110 Adventures on the High Trail 

The way before her now looked so im¬ 
possible that she wondered how the ma¬ 
rooned girl had ever gotten so far. Surely 
this was not the way! A little ahead rose a 
huge boulder whose side sloped towards her 
like a steep roof. By finding hand-and toe¬ 
hold in the cracks on either side of the crev¬ 
ice she could reach its base, and by clinging 
to its smooth surface with her bare palms 
and wriggling upward, almost prone, and 
keeping an exquisite balance, she reached its 
apex. 

“My! I’ll certainly go back some other 
way,” she thought, as she looked down the 
way she had come. “I could never get 
down this way alone, without coasting.” 

She reached the girl,—one of Carlin’s 
party,—helped her to extricate her foot, 
found her less hurt than frightened, found 
also that she was afraid even to try to go 
back the way she had come. 

A little further the chimney led up 
beneath a huge flat rock that seemed to roof 
its top. Try as she would, she could 


A Matter of Sportmanship m 

neither get around nor over this obstruc¬ 
tion. 

She studied the great, sloping boulder. 
There was a sheer drop into slide-rock at its 
base. She would have to descend back¬ 
wards on hands and knees. She started, 
though retaining a cautious hold on its up¬ 
per edge. She could never do it that way. 
She drew herself back, trembling. She 
might slide down, making a leap at the end, 
but it would be a miracle if she did not 
start another rockslide and break her ankle, 
at the very least. She thought she knew 
what her mother would advise, could she 
have sent a radio message at this point. 
She would say that with the welfare of so 
many people on her shoulders, she had no 
right to take a chance. She might signal 
for help. 

There was no fuel with which to start a 
smoke signal. There was nothing but gray 
granite and a few clusters of a rare, sweet- 
scented scarlet flower that seemed to have 
taken root in the dust of the cracks in the 


112 Adventures on the High Trail 

rock. She tried shouting, but without much 
heart, for she knew there was no one within 
earshot, moreover, it was by no means cer¬ 
tain that anyone could see them from the 
trail. 

At this moment she noticed a handful of 
letters protruding from the other girl’s 
pocket. “So you’ve had your mail?” she 
exclaimed. 

“Yes, a boy on horseback brought it yes¬ 
terday. He had a big bagful for your 
crowd, too, but Mr. Carlin thought you had 
gone back to Independence, and he told the 
boy it would be safer to go back with it.” 


CHAPTER VI 


MAROONED ON A MOUNTAINSIDE 


W HEN the two girls found themselves 
marooned on the mountainside, un¬ 
able to go farther or to retrace their steps, 
they decided to wait until someone missed 
them and came in search. Fortunately they 
had canteens and a pocket lunch, with 
sweaters as protection against the chill wind 
of the high peaks, and smoked glasses 
against sun-glare on the polished granite. 
Had she been in a different position, Norma 
might have tried signalling with the sun on 
the glasses, but she was right under the 
overhanging rock-ledge where the sun did 
not reach her. The afternoon wore in¬ 
terminably away, and still no one came 
within sight or ear-shot. At last her wrist- 
watch told her that it was five o’clock. 
Well, the China boys at least would miss 

313 


114 Adventures on the High Trail 

her when she did not come to supervise the 
dinner, and start an inquiry. She dreaded 
to think of darkness overtaking them, and 
of having to make her way back, even with a 
helping hand, over this uncertain footing. 

She had reasoned that anyone passing on 
the trail above would be unable to see them, 
under the rock-ledge, and she was begin¬ 
ning to conclude that they had been unable 
to see them from below, so shut in were they 
by the narrowness of the rock chimney. 
In her growing desperation, an idea came 
to her: she could tie her white handker¬ 
chief around a rock and throw it over the 
top of the crevice. The white spot, con¬ 
spicuous against the gray, would attract 
the eye of anyone who passed near enough 
to see it, and he would understand, and 
search the neighborhood for its owner. 

Half-past five, and they were chilled to 
the bone. What if it should snow, and bury 
them here? Or more likely, what if 
there were cougars (California mountain 
lions) ? That they denned high above tim- 


Marooned on a Mountainside 115 

ber line she knew, though they descended 
to the deer country for their hunting. 
But would they—at this time of year— 
attack a human being ? She knew it was 
not likely, and yet—she was becoming less 
and less philosophical. In fact, she was 
about ready to give way to panic. 

Meantime, Tex had been waiting at the 
summit till she should arrive. 

The helmet-shaped dome had easily been 
seen from the base-camp, and the base- 
camp was still visible from the summit,— 
or at least the silver thread that marked 
Crabtree Creek, with the tiny lakes dotted 
here and there along the way. From 
14,000 feet onward the rare thinness of the 
air caused heavy breathing, while a few 
felt light-headed or sleepy and had to rest 
by the way. Arrived at the top, however, 
fatigue was forgotten as they peered at the 
unending line of lesser peaks and down into 
the desert on the Eastern side, Owen’s Lake 
gleaming in the sunlight. Its tributary 
streams lay like a map beneath them, and 


116 Adventures on the High Trail 

on its rim, the tiny checkerboard that was 
a town. But who can put in words what 
must be seen to be comprehended ? 

Their first wonder over, the group be¬ 
came aware of its sharp need of cheese and 
hard-tack, raisins and sweet chocolate, with 
a handful of snow to quench their thirst. 
One man had even carried a knap-sack of 
fire-wood all that way on his back, and now 
boiled coffee for those who most needed the 
stimulant, though boiling at that altitude 
was a waiting game. 

When the last of the crowd had turned 
back, Tex started too, knowing he ought to 
meet Norma somewhere along the way. 
When he was almost back at camp, the 
rumor reached him of her non-appearance, 
and he started back on the gallop, for he 
had ridden as far as the snow-fringed 
meadow at the base of the trail. Reason¬ 
ing that she could not be anywhere along 
the way he had come, he did not go on to 
the right hand chimney, the one the crowd 
had taken, but started up the middle chim- 


Marooned on a Mountainside 117 

ney, rightly blaming the only bad going of 
the trip as having something to do with her 
disappearance. With his usual daring he 
leapt and scrambled, throwing caution to 
the four winds. 

On the trail just above the chimneys he 
came upon the handkerchief tied around 
the stone, and raised his voice in a halloo. 
Norma hallooed in turn, but her smaller 
voice, though it echoed back and forth in 
the chimney, did not reach him. He hal¬ 
looed again and again, and then it occurred 
to the imprisoned girls that they could di¬ 
rect his attention by throwing more rocks. 
This they did, and when one had at last 
taken off her blue bandanna and tied it 
around another rock, he saw, and realized 
that Norma must be in the left hand of the 
three chimneys. After that he cautiously 
retraced his steps, and made his way to the 
foot of the boulder on which they were im¬ 
prisoned. 

“Now then, slide, and Ill catch you,” di¬ 
rected Tex, taking the other girl first and 


118 Adventures on the High Trail 

helping her back to the trail. Returning 
for Norma, he held out his arms as he 
would have for a child. “There, there! 
You pore leetle kid!” as she burst into 
tears of relief on his shoulder. “Why! 
Don’t you know your old Tex has got you 
safe?” and he patted her back soothingly. 

“It’s all r-right,” she wept. Her teeth 
were chattering and her whole frame was 
shaking with nervousness and cold. Tex 
took her in his arms then, and said and did 
things he had never meant to, and the girl 
was touched by his tender solicitude. She 
hoped with all her heart it was nothing 
more,—though she knew better,—for it had 
been one of her steadfast principles never 
to coquette, never to give false encourage¬ 
ment and the resulting pain, but to try to 
keep her relationships on a basis of mere 
cordial friendship. Something of this she 
tried to tell him. t 

“I guess mebbe you’re too educated for 
a feller like me,” he voiced the cultural gap 
between them. 


Marooned on a Mountainside 119 

“No, no, Tex, that sort of thing would 
not count, if—if—” And he knew she 
meant it, she was always so genuine, so 
straight-forward. But he also understood 
her withdrawal. 

“You see,” he explained haltingly, “I 
ain’t never met up with a girl just like you 
before. I ain’t never knowed much of any 
women at all, where I’ve been, except at 
dance-halls and the like of that. I guess— 
mebbe—you’re just naturally kind of— 
motherly to everyone, aren’t you? And I 
didn’t have no right to think it was suthin’ 
else.— There, there, now, Little Sister, 
don’t try to say nothin’ more. I got it 
straight now, and you’re all tuckered out.” 
They made their way back to the trail, where 
the other girl waited. 

Arrived at camp, Norma was for once in 
her life too tired to eat more than a cup of 
the soup that had been prepared with the 
help of the first women hikers to reach 
camp. The long line had been fed, and was 
now assembling about the bonfire. 


120 Adventures on the High Trail 

“Every mountain that we see 
Looks as easy as can he, 

And we ain’t got weary yet!” 

they were singing. 

Norma laughed, as she rolled into her 
sleeping-bag. The fire was directly beneath 
her, at the foot of the slope on which she was 
to spend the night. ‘‘ Ugh!’ ’ she shuddered, 
“I’ll bet I dream of rolling off that boul¬ 
der, and I’ll bet I do roll—right down into 
that fire!” How her bones ached! She 
drowsed off to the reiterated refrain of: 

“We ain’t got weary yet!” 

Being young and buoyant, Norma arose 
fully herself again. Telling Bart what she 
had learned of Carlin’s treachery in the 
matter of the mail, she did some rapid plan¬ 
ning. 

That day an easy trail would lead them 
across Sandy Plateau to the meadows at 
Tyndall Creek, and the next forenoon 
would cross Junction Pass, on their way to 


Marooned on a Mountainside 121 

Yidette Meadows, approaching from the 
South. There they could camp for several 
days, resting up from the two mammoth 
climbs,—for Junction Pass is the highest 
pass in the United States, rising to nearly 
13,300 feet. 

While they were doing that, someone 
would go down to Independence and bring 
back the mail,—but who that knew the trails 
could be spared? None of the packers, 
certainly, with Junction Pass just ahead.— 
Who, indeed, but herself, Norma de¬ 
cided. 

This announcement called forth half a 
dozen volunteers for commissary. Mr. 
Nutting insisted that he would keep the 
stove-wood chopped, and Mrs. Clark would 
take charge most of the time. Norma had 
an idea: Mrs. Progg had not yet volunteered 
for anything: she would ask her to plan and 
direct tonight’s dinner. Mrs. Clark could 
not be expected to do it all. She put it 
rather flatteringly, and to her relief, the 
stout lady accepted with a brightening of the 


122 Adventures on the High Trail 

eyes that promised good results. She now 
felt that she had been right in suspecting 
that the doctor’s erstwhile patient had felt 
herself an outsider. 

She also acted on another hunch in 
appointing Martha Hatch to take charge of 
next day’s breakfast,—the day they were to 
rise at four o’clock in order to make the 
climb over Junction Pass. She smiled in¬ 
wardly as she pictured the chronic com¬ 
plainant struggling in the gray dawn to 
send fifty chilled and famished mountain¬ 
eers off with a good hot meal, cooked and 
served in the open, from the contents of the 
canvas kyacks. 

Thus it was that Norma rode on ahead 
that day, with Tinker to carry her dunnage- 
bag and bring back parcels-post. Prince 
followed, en route for home. The way 
led first along Sandy Plateau, which 
was nearly level, though it lay two 
miles high, then across the Diamond 
Mesa, which was criss-crossed with cattle- 
paths. How she pored over the big 





Norma rode on ahead that day 


























































i I . $ 

















Marooned on a Mountainside 123 

route map, which she had made by pasting 
into one great sheet the four U. S. Geolog¬ 
ical Survey maps of the Kaweah, Olanche, 
Mt. Whitney and Tehipite quadrangles, 
and mounting it on silkalene. Over Shep¬ 
herd’s Pass, which led so steeply back and 
forth across banked snow they had to 
lead the animals and pick their steps with 
exquisite nicety, their only guide the foot¬ 
prints of the boy who had brought Carlin’s 
mail, and his horse. Down, down, down 
they fought their way, now along Shep¬ 
herd’s Creek,—a drop of 12,000 feet alto¬ 
gether before they reached the hot sands of 
Owen’s Valley, and by ten o’clock that 
evening Norma was tumbling into bed 
at an Independence hotel, too tired to 
think. 

The first thing in the morning she got 
her mother—twenty-eight miles distant— 
on the ’phone and had a long talk with her. 
“Then you didn’t get my letter!” exclaimed 
Mrs. Blaisdell. “I have been so worried I 
didn’t know what to do. Carlin has been 


124 Adventures on the High Trail 

writing back here—from Giant Forest and 
again from Camp Funston—how Bart was 
mismanaging the whole affair, how you had 
started a forest fire, and how everyone was 
so dissatisfied that they were begging him 
—Carlin—to take them the rest of the way. 
I might have known how much to believe of 
Carlin!— But he’s got everyone spread¬ 
ing rumors.” 

Norma explained the real state of affairs. 

“What is all this talk of scandal?” her 
mother demanded. “Did you know that 
Carlin has been writing that one of your 
young men—a violinist—was found sleep¬ 
ing in the girls’ camp ?” 

Norma first laughed, then began to think 
of the possible effect of such a rumor on 
Bart’s business connections. But it was 
too ridiculous! How ready people were to 
believe the worst—Though of course not 
those who knew him personally. So Car¬ 
lin had stopped at nothing!— Or could he 
honestly believe it himself? 

“I think I understand Carlin’s type,” 


Marooned on a Mountainside 125 

Mrs. Blaisdell rejoined. “That kind of 
person has such an inflated idea of his—or 
her—own importance that he—or she— 
really believes poorly of anyone who 
appears like a rival in any way. I be¬ 
lieve Carlin almost hypnotizes himself into 
believing anything that will save his own 
conceit. Such people do more harm than 
they realize.” 

Norma thought of the films she had 
brought down to be developed, and won¬ 
dered what Independence would say if it 
saw the snap-shot the doctor had taken 
after that night around the bonfire, of 
Ucelli unconsciously huddled up to the 
sleeping Mrs. Clark as if she had been a log 
put there for a wind-break ? 

“Never mind the rumors,” her mother 
was advising. “Just do your part. Are 
you sure you have enough provisions ? 
That is about the most important thing on 
a hiking trip.” 

“Yes, we left enough cached at Yidette 
to last the rest of the trip.” 


126 Adventures on the High Trail 

“Are you perfectly sure?” 

“Absolutely. If you could see the stuff 
piled up there under that canvas—” 

“ And won’t anything—bears or anything 
—get at it?” 

“It’s most all in tin cans.— Even the 
bacon and hard-tack.” 

The conversation drew to a close. 

Norma would have to start back as soon 
as the post-office opened, if she were to 
make Vidette that night. To the man who 
mended her kodak, and then to the friendly 
post-master, she gave a hint as to the truth 
of the rumors. She knew they would carry 
on. 

“I asked the boy,” the post-master said, 
“why he didn’t take your mail when he 
came for Carlin’s,” and he handed her a 
bundle that must have contained five hun¬ 
dred letters. “He said that Carlin told 
him some of you would be down in a few 
days and he needn’t bother, so I knew you 
were coming.” 

Norma mulled over this last treachery on 


Marooned on a Mountainside 127 

Carlin’s part as she loaded the pack-mule 
to capacity with the parcels-post. Would 
he continue to double-cross them'? 

Meantime Bart had been negotiating the 
climb over Junction Pass. The trail had 
led first over Shepherd’s Pass and down to 
where Norma had turned East to the Val¬ 
ley. There it had swung about at right 
angles and headed North, climbing breath- 
takingly upward. The bones of pack- 
mules whitening at the bottom of the gulch 
showed where disaster had over-taken pre¬ 
vious pack-trips, and he and Tex went 
ahead with pick-axes and snow-shovels to 
make sure of the footing the animals would 
have to traverse. Martha Hatch followed. 
“Do you know,” panted the school-teacher, 
her cheeks ruddy wfith cold, when a slight 
widening of the gash in the steep slope per¬ 
mitted them to walk side by side for a mo¬ 
ment, “I never realized—till I superin¬ 
tended breakfast this morning—what an 
achievement it is to prepare—any kind 
of meal—under these conditions'?— I’m 


128 Adventures on the High Trail 

afraid—the cereal was under-done—and 
the coffee bitter, but—no one seemed to 
mind.— I didn’t. I was ravenous enough 
to eat shoe leather.” 

“I ate like a horse myself,” laughed Bart. 

“And my, don’t you sleep wonderfully?” 
added the erstwhile chronic complainant, 
pausing to open her luncheon can of jam 
and mix it with snow to quench their thirst. 
“Would you ever have believed you could 
sleep so well on bare ground?” 

A sound just around the turn of the trail 
shattered the mountain silence. A shout 
of “Whoa, there!— Cut ’im loose !— 
Steady! Reverse!”—then a squeal of ter¬ 
ror from the mule, and a brown object went 
hurtling over and over down the smooth 
snow-bank. It came to a stop three thou¬ 
sand feet below. After that it did not 
move. The scattering groups of hikers 
peered aghast, till the word was passed 
along that it was only a mule. 

“Well,” Bart closed the matter, starting 


Marooned on a Mountainside 129 

on again with his commissary string, “no 
more Reverse action on this trip!” 

Meanwhile Norma, headed for Kear- 
sarge Pass, as they had done that day 
that seemed so long ago, so much had hap¬ 
pened since the trip had begun. Shining 
sands and scent of sage-brush, scuttling 
lizards, horned toads, Gila monsters, a rat¬ 
tle-snake coiled in the shadow of a boulder 
that set her horse to dancing, a thorny- 
armed mesquite, 1 a man and a boy poking 
two pack-burros along,—and the desert fell 
panting behind them. Ahead, the now fa¬ 
miliar way climbed briskly up to the 
painted pinnacles, and into the John Muir 
Trail. 

By the time they had reached the Pass, 
the afternoon was well spent, but she could 
still make Yidette—if need be—by star¬ 
light, leaving it to Sylph to keep the trail. 
To the girl’s consternation, gray snow 
clouds began deadening the sky. It was 


i Pronounced meB-keet. 


130 Adventures on the High Trail 

not yet August, and she would not have ex¬ 
pected snow—even among the high peaks— 
for several weeks, but it had been an un¬ 
usual year. She began to hurry the ani¬ 
mals, for once the snow covered the 
trail, the going would be really dangerous 
down these steep inclines. Soon the big 
flakes began to whirl. 

In the sudden blotting out of the land¬ 
scape, Norma did not see an approaching 
figure till it w T as close upon her. 

It was a man on horseback. Who could 
it be ? She had always been told there were 
no rough characters in the mountains, but 
it was a lonely spot, for all that, and—what 
if it were someone like MariscaH 


CHAPTER YII 


DOUBLE-CROSSED 


H 


"ALLOO!” called the approaching 
horseman.—It was Hanger Hope. 

“Halloo P Norma's relief was two-fold. 
Faced one moment by the whirling snow, 
which had so unseasonably shut the sur¬ 
rounding peaks from her view, she had sup¬ 
posed herself alone on the trail, with no 
human being within miles. The next in¬ 
stant there was the young Forest officer, 
who had so interested her back at Moraine 
Lake. She greeted him like one lost on a 
desert island. 

He explained that he had made it over 
Junction Pass that morning with the Club, 
and when he learned that Norma was ex¬ 
pected to come in alone from Kearsarge 
Pass, in the face of the gathering storm, he 
had known she could never make it that 


131 


132 Adventures on the High Trail 

night, and had pushed his horse unsparingly 
to meet her. He looked gaunt and fagged. 
He was going down to Independence himself 
next day. 

No use trying to keep to the trail along 
the whitened mountainside. Sylph, the ex¬ 
race horse, at least, hadn’t the trail sense to 
do it, though a mountain-bred pony might 
have kept her footing. Besides, darkness 
had by now overtaken them, and by the 
time they had reached a level stretch that 
meant the margin of one of the little moun¬ 
tain lakes, it was safe to go no farther in 
the thickening white dusk. 

Hope had foreseen this possibility and 
Bart had given him some bedding for him¬ 
self, together with a tarp for a lean-to, an 
axe, a candle-lantern, and some extra pro¬ 
visions. Scouting around till they found 
the shelter of a little thicket of spruce, they 
pitched the tarpaulin at a slant against the 
storm, then built a rousing fire just in front, 
where its heat would be reflected down on 
their blankets. Norma insisted on helping, 


Double-Crossed 


138 


in the face of Hope’s ardent protest. “I be¬ 
lieve in every camper doing her share!” she 
explained. 

“1 never supposed there were girls like 
you!” he marvelled. 

Norma cooked a hot supper, while he 
brought in more fire-wood, and laid spruce 
boughs to floor the lean-to a foot deep. 
Next they arranged poles to close in 
both ends of the tarp, so that they had a 
cozy shelter in the circle of warmth from 
the night-fire. Hope, who had camped 
in the Maine woods, built the logs into a 
wall at the back to keep in the heat. Un¬ 
like the Maine woods, however, there was 
no hard-wood, so that he had to collect a 
monstrous pile of evergreens to see them 
through the night, as their sleeping-bags 
would be altogether too light for such 
weather. 

Pulling off their wet hiking-boots and 
propping them at a safe distance from the 
flames, they slid into their bags, feet toward 
the fire, watching the whirling flakes 


134 Adventures on the High Trail 

beyond their canvas, and wondering how 
deep the snow might drift about them by 
morning. Hope told how he had once 
been snow-bound in Maine, and Norma de¬ 
scribed wilderness trips she had taken as a 
little girl with her father and Bart. 

When he had pictured the Maine woods, 
dappled white with birches and a lacework 
of bare hardwood branches snow-lined 
against the sky, or red and gold in autumn, 
or green canopy of summer shade, with 
streams in which one could canoe for days 
with nothing worse than an occasional 
rapids to portage, Norma breathed, “How 
I’d love to see it!” 

“You must—some day!” He looked at 
her with glowing eyes and opened his lips to 
say more, but thought better of it. 

To break the silence, she laughed: “The 
canoe that runs these rivers would need 
wings,—but we have the advantage when 
it comes to taking pack-animals, with all 
this free forage. And no mosquitoes! 
Nor black flies, either.” Someway, it did 


Double-Crossed 


135 


not seem a bit strange to be thrown thus 
intimately together: Norma felt as if she 
had known him always, and there were 
so many fascinating things to talk about 
that it seemed a pity when her tired 
body at last befogged her brain in sleep. 
“Good-night,” she called, offering her hand, 
and his warm hand-clasp lingered as long as 
it dared. Hope vowed exuberantly, as they 
took the trail next morning, that he 
couldn’t remember when he had enjoyed 
anything so much as he had that night un¬ 
der the Pass, with the winds howling about 
their ears, making it an achievement just to 
keep from freezing. 

They had opened their eyes on ermined 
spruce boughs drooping under their weight 
of snow. The big flakes no longer whirled, 
and before the sun had mounted high 
enough to peer over the Pass, the world 
rose blue-white up the slopes that cupped 
them under the sky. As the yellow glow be¬ 
gan gilding the higher peaks, as if some in¬ 
visible being were touching them to life and 


136 Adventures on the High Trail 

color, they watched in speechless ecstasy. 

The stock had found shelter in the 
spruces, hut no fodder, and they fed them 
their left-over flap-jacks and stewed ap¬ 
ples, a fare hugely relished at least by little 
Tinker. The footing was at first preca¬ 
rious, and they led their mounts along the 
slippery way. The sun, which now shone 
dazzlingly on the virgin snow-fields, soon 
had rivulets melting down the slopes. 

Some time after Hope had headed back 
toward the Pass, Norma saw a buck deer 
standing motionless against the snow, but 
even as she spied the beautiful animal, it 
started, half crumpled, then went bounding 
up the mountain-side. From a darker 
patch that meant a clump of trees rose a 
puff of white that looked like the smoke of 
a gun,—though there had been no sound. 
Then a dark figure that walked upright 
went scrambling in the direction the deer 
had taken. 

“Some one’s hunting—out of season!” 
she told herself. 

A half hour later they had toiled to a 


Double-Crossed 


137 


bend of the trail where a double line of 
foot-prints, deer and human, lay marked in 
the snow. “I’m going to scout around and 
see what’s up,” she decided. 

They were peculiar foot-prints; she knew 
they were not Bart’s. The human figure 
had disappeared into the thicket. A splotch 
of blood where the buck had ended one of 
his mammoth leaps, then a larger patch of 
red, filled her with mingled pity and wrath. 
It must have been wounded in the heart, 
or it could still have run for miles. 

In the edge of the clump of saplings she 
came upon a sight that sickened her. On 
the carmined snow lay a tawny form, its 
head completely severed from its body by 
a knife, and the legs tied together as if for 
transportation. It had been a fine eight- 
point buck. The ground around was 
stamped with those same broad human foot¬ 
prints, now leading into the woods beyond. 
She called, but no one answered. A distant 
sound of crashing bushes told that the law¬ 
breaker was running away from her. 


138 Adventures on the High Trail 

What she did next was prompted by 
mingled motives. First she had feared that 
some one from their own party was going 
to get them into trouble by bringing in veni¬ 
son: then she thought how it might help 
Banger Hope, whose territory this was, to 
have some clew as to the malefactor. Last 
of all it occurred to her to wonder if some¬ 
one of Carlin’s outfit had been replenishing 
their larder, so near where Bart was en¬ 
camped, and if the rival packer might not 
someway lay a net of circumstantial evi¬ 
dence for Bart’s undoing. 

Taking her vest pocket kodak from her 
belt, she took a picture of the scene, then 
one of a single foot-print that lay clearly 
marked in the melting snow. 

At Yidette, the eager, waiting crowd 
fell on the mail like a crowd of hun¬ 
gry locusts. That afternoon, the snow 
of the peaks had been rain in the meadows, 
and the porous ground quickly absorbed it. 
Tea parties were given by everyone who had 
received a box from home. 


Double-Crossed 


139 


“Do you know,” Mrs. Clark told Norma, 
“we haven’t had such fun on the trip, (nor 
gotten half so well acquainted), as we did 
with everyone helping out at commissary.” 

“Perhaps I shouldn’t have come back 
so soon!” laughed the relieved girl. She 
observed with relish that a new Mrs. Progg 
washed her clothes on the river-bank,—a 
Mrs. Progg who called several of her fel¬ 
low laundresses by their first names and 
showed uncommon consideration for their 
rights and needs. 

“It never rains in summer,” is the oft- 
repeated slogan of the Californiac, and in¬ 
deed the chances of wet weather in July are 
slight, even in the mountains, but the after¬ 
noon of Norma’s arrival with the mail a 
thunder-storm came up, and those of the 
crowd who had not gone fishing promptly 
donned their feather-weight raincoats or 
home-made tent-silk parkas and saw to it 
that their waterproof sleeping-bags were 
laid out on high ground. As a Club, the 
Sierras did not carry tents, and neither did 


140 Adventures on the High Trail 

this group, though a few had so far reduced 
the weight of their other dunnage as to in¬ 
clude a lean-to of one of the extremely 
lightweight waterproof materials. Pitch¬ 
ing these shelter cloths at the proper angle, 
these few invited their friends to lay the 
head ends of their sleeping-bags under¬ 
neath, so that they could climb in dry. The 
bags, however, were so constructed that a 
two foot flap of the waterproofing extended 
over the head end and could be propped 
over the face of the sleeper. 

That afternoon it was jolly enough by 
reason of its novelty, and supper was eaten 
around a huge bonfire with the slow drizzle 
spattering into the coffee cups and the fish¬ 
ermen displaying mammoth Rainbow trout. 
In the evening it stopped for awhile, but 
next day it was raining steadily, and those 
who did not care to go fishing were begin¬ 
ning to raise a murmur of discontent, when 
Norma thought of getting a big fire started 
and organizing some kind of amusement. 
“ Everyone here has to do a stunt /’ she an- 


Double-Crossed 


141 


nounced merrily. “Mr. Nutting will open 
the program.’’ To her relief the big man 
responded. He had a story of his boyhood 
adventures. Fun Choo was prevailed upon 
to sing in Chinese, someone gave a nymph 
dance among the dripping trees, and a nat¬ 
uralist of the party entertainingly related 
how she had made the acquaintance of a 
whistling marmot with a lengthy scientific 
title, who had proven nearly as curious 
about human kind as she was about him. 
The doctor teasingly contributed an ad¬ 
venture with an alleged Toozle-woozle. 
Though this should have kept the ball roll¬ 
ing, there came a sodden pause, but Tex, 
returning with a string of Rainbows, came 
to the rescue, and Norma’s heart warmed 
with gratitude as he danced—tired as he 
was—in a coiled lariat. 

A men’s cooking and women’s wood-saw¬ 
ing contest added to the fun. 

The month was doing wonders for Tim. 
First imitating Tex in outward apparel 
and small mannerisms, save that Bart 


142 Adventures on the High Trail 

firmly vetoed his interest in smoking 
and swearing, the boy was trying his best 
to adopt the cowman’s quiet way of doing 
the things that had to be done on the trail, 
but without a word of boasting either be¬ 
fore or afterwards. 

It delighted Bart to see the small 
brother riding along, a pygmy imitation of 
the lanky cowman, his blue cotton ban¬ 
danna in turn a neck-tie knotted with stud¬ 
ied nonchalance at the back of his neck, or 
tied over nose and mouth for a dust-mask, 
—a style Tim preferred, as it made him 
look so startlingly like a highman.— Like 
Tex, his bandanna also became by turns a 
napkin, towel, and night-cap. 

Like Tex, he got ready for bed feet first, 
gradually inserting himself into his blan¬ 
kets without once exposing any part of his 
person to the chill night air, and in the 
morning he reversed the process, clapping 
on his sombrero the instant the daily 
“Time-to-get up! Get up! Get up!” re¬ 
sounded, and proceeding to dress himself 


Double-Crossed 


143 


beneath the privacy of his blankets (for 
lack of a tent), at least until he got to his 
boots. These, ever since a certain episode 
with a porcupine, Tex had made a practise 
of sleeping on, lest some “critter” should 
come along and find them a tasty tid-bit. 

Of course Tim could not take the place 
of a packer. It took a grown man to throw 
the loop of doubled rope over the mule’s 
back to the off side, lift the pack—perhaps 
a hundred pounds—into place, and hold it 
while the off packer brought the loop up 
around his pack to the top of the load. 
There the near packer passed an end of the 
rope through the loop and tied it in a square 
knot, and it was ready for the trail. Tim 
was no end of use when it came to rounding 
up the stock. In three weeks he had learned 
to throw a lariat with precision about the 
shoulders of the errant ones. He could at 
least untie the knot when the trip was done 
and let the sleeping bags fall to the ground, 
adjust bells and hobbles, and take his turn 
with the night watch. He had learned to 


144 Adventures on the High Trail 

pitch a tarp as well as anyone, build a cook- 
fire and balance a thirty-five pound dun¬ 
nage-bag on his back. As Dr. Clark de¬ 
clared : ‘ 6 Every day, in every way, ’ ’ he was 
doing better and better. 

In quiet Bart the trip was developing 
the fighting spirit, while as for Norma, she 
had become nothing if not systematic. She 
always saw to it that her lead mule carried 
provisions and utensils for the next dinner, 
that on top of the kyacks, bell and hobbles 
were in readiness, and that over all was 
folded a commissary tarp which could be 
rigged as a lean-to in case of rain. She had 
taken to planning meals far in advance. 
She had discovered that a pound of de¬ 
hydrated riced potato would make an equi¬ 
valent of seven pounds of fresh potatoes, 
that a pound of dehydrated sliced onions 
were as good as fourteen pounds of fresh, 
and that a pound of dried cranberries made 
ten quarts of stewed fruit. The supply for 
the next meal she packed each morning in 


Double-Crossed 


145 


her small muslin bags, then fitted these into 
waterproof canvas bags for the kyacks 

Every morning, with the first graying of 
the East, Bart would give the call: “Time 
to get up—get up—get up!” 

“Time to get up—get up—get up!” Tim 
would relay it. Piute Joe would add the 
finishing touch by rising on one elbow in his 
blankets and uttering the shrill, falsetto 
Indian yell, so like the cry of a coyote. 
From every side, as far as ear could hear, 
would come the answering calls of the real 
coyotes. After that the half hundred hikers, 
who at the start would have given their 
souls for another half hour’s sleep, were 
willing to pass the word to less wakeful 
neighbors: “Time to get up—get up—get 
up!” and with systematic motions that had 
become second nature, scramble into their 
clothing, shiver down to the icy stream with 
cups and tooth-brushes, then roll up their 
sleeping-bags, pantingly cinch them shut, 
and staggeringly tote them to the pack-train 


146 Adventures on the High Trail 

before joining the ravenous breakfast line. 
It was a wholesome regime, muscle harden¬ 
ing, and with all the rain, no one had caught 
cold: the over-weight had reduced, the un¬ 
der-weight, thanks to their sharpened ap¬ 
petites, had gained, and office-taut nerves 
had been restored by the sound sleep of sheer 
physical exhaustion. With the daily inti¬ 
macy and the jolly evenings around the bon¬ 
fire, friendships had sprung up that would 
remain a lasting souvenir of the month on 
the high trail. It was a good work that 
Bart had undertaken, Norma told herself. 
—if only he could keep it up! 

She had ceased to worry about the killing 
of the buck. None of their party, certainly, 
had brought in any venison. She scanned 
every passing camper for signs of the for¬ 
bidden game protruding from their kyacks. 
She kept her film of the foot-prints care¬ 
fully sealed in an empty pepper tin. It 
might at least help Ranger Hope to find 
the culprit. 

The long evening when they two had 


Double-Crossed 


147 


talked around the bonfire while the snow 
flakes whirled, lay warm at her heart, and 
she hoped—how she hoped he would be able 
to carry out his plan of catching up with 
them again. Eosily she reflected that he 
would surely accompany them next year 
over as much of the trail as lay in his ter¬ 
ritory. How glorious would be those 
golden days and star-strewn nights so high 
under the heavens! 

There was a surprise in store. 

What was Norma’s dismay, on helping 
Bart take stock of the supplies they had 
left cached, to find not one can of coffee in 
the whole array. Other canned goods had 
been taken,—sardines, succotash, tomatoes, 
all sorts of things, including the sterilized 
butter and the large can of powdered milk. 
She made a mental estimate of the days 
still remaining of the trip, and the number 
of meals to be eaten. They would be more 
than short-rationed; commissary would be 
fairly crippled. 

Who could have done it? No an- 


148 Adventures on the High Trail 

imal, certainly,—though there were bears 
who might have pilfered. What bear 
would carry off a can of coffee? What 
beast of any sort, from cougar to coyote, 
would scent a sealed can of butter and 
make way with it ? Besides, there were no 
foot-prints save those of human kind. 

None but human hands could have made 
that nice selection. Anyone in real dis¬ 
tress would have taken advantage of 
that universal rule of mountain hospital¬ 
ity and taken what he needed,—and just 
as surely he would have left his name, and 
payment or promise of payment or of re¬ 
turn in kind. Who could have taken 
such utterly unwarranted advantage of that 
rule as to deplete their cache in this whole¬ 
sale manner ?— Lifting a large tin box of 
hard-tack, Bart found—wrapped in a piece 
of brown paper—a handful of money in 
bills and silver, but with no name attached. 
Ten minutes later he uttered an exclama¬ 
tion of surprise. 


Double-Crossed 


149 


“What is it?” his sister demanded, look¬ 
ing over his shoulder at his cheek list. 

“This is sure the queerest thing I ever 
saw,” Bart said slowly. “I was figuring 
up the stuff that’s missing, getting an idea 
of whether they’d left too much money, and 
what do you think?” 

“What?” 

“The money they left—whoever took the 
stuff—comes to just exactly what I paid, to 
the cent, at Club discount .— Can you beat 
that? The sardine’s whiskers, how did 
they know?” 

“It’s weird.” 

“I’ll bet you anything it was Carlin who 
took those things!” Bart was furious. 

“Let’s ride ahead and find out!” sug¬ 
gested Norma. 

“You bet I’ll find out. I’ll be hornswog- 
gled if I’ll stand for such treatment!” 

“And he’s been buying at Club rates! 
Of course they knew him from last year. 
When that gets known, I can see just where 


150 Adventures on the High Trail 

it will land him with both the dealers and 
the Club. He ought to be shown up. Oh, 
dear, I wish we knew how to fight that man. 
You can’t out-shout him in an argument.” 

“That man was sure cut out for a plat¬ 
form speaker.” 

“Cut out for the soap-box on the cor¬ 
ner!— He really has a certain eloquence, 
where people don’t know him too well. I 
wish we were more clever.” 

“There they are,” Bart lowered his 
voice, as they rounded a bend of the trail. 
They rode up to the party, lounging soci¬ 
ably around the bonfire. Carlin—feeling 
all eyes focussed upon him—stepped for¬ 
ward to greet the new-comers. “How are 
you, Blaisdell ?— And Miss Blaisdell?” 
he bellowed cordially. “I was wondering 
why you never came to see us.— Just in 
time for our marshmallow toast.” 

“We came on business,” said Bart 
shortly. He stopped just behind commis¬ 
sary, where was heaped a clutter of bags and 
boxes. 


Double-Crossed 


151 


“Er—yes, yes, to be sure. Business be¬ 
fore pleasure.— Perhaps you’d rather 
come this way,” and he led them back to 
the road. 

“Now, then,” said Bart, his brown eyes 
hard, “did you leave that money at our 
cache?” 

“Your cache?” 

“Yes,—at Vidette.” 

“Was that your cache?” 

Bart hesitated in surprise, and Norma’s 
nails bit into clenched hands. 

Carlin hung himself in his own noose. 
“I thought you were going to bring in plenty 
more from Independence,” he flung at them. 

Bart laughed shortly. “You forgot you 
didn’t know it was our cache. I’ll admit, 
you knew someone would have to go to In¬ 
dependence for the mail you wouldn’t let 
the boy deliver to us.” 

The big man eyed Bart shiftily, as if won¬ 
dering what he could have in that long head 
of his that gave him such an air of being 
master of the situation. 


152 Adventures on the High Trail 

Nonna’s one thought was that she would 
be driven to her wit’s end to keep the Club 
from actually going hungry. 

“One always has the right to borrow in 
case of need,—in the mountains,” protested 
Carlin. “That’s only human,—that’s just 
plain human decency.” Re had raised his 
voice, and Norma knew the group around 
the bonfire could hear, and was probably 
meant to hear. She shrugged her shoul¬ 
ders. Of what use to try to fight a man 
like that? They had simply been double- 
crossed again.— 


CHAPTER VIII 


A MATTER OP FAIR PLAY 


4 ‘XT TELL, Carlin,’ ’ Bart announced, 
W ‘ 4 fifty-fifty’s fair play. We’re 
both short on supplies. Here’s half your 
money back, and I’ll take half the stuff.” 
He too had purposely raised his voice till the 
group around the bonfire could hear. “Is 
that a go?” 

Carlin seemed for a moment like to ex¬ 
plode with rage. As he became aware that 
a silence had fallen on the listeners, he re¬ 
assumed the mask of joviality and boomed, 
with all apparent heartiness: “Of course, 
my boy!—Of course.” He could not help 
adding: “Always glad to be accommo¬ 
datin’ to a young fellow that’s trying to get 
a foothold in the business. We’ll just sort 
everything into two piles, and you can take 
my mule to tote yours back with.” 

153 


154 Adventures on the High Trail 

To the interested tourists, to whom he re¬ 
turned as soon as he had sent a black look 
after Bart’s retreating form, he offered in 
a confidential tone: 4 ‘Poor youngster, he 
had no right to undertake a trip like this, 
but you can’t help feelin’ sorry for him, 
with so many things goin’ wrong; and be¬ 
sides, you can’t see all those people sufferin’ 
away off here where they can’t help them¬ 
selves.” 

The next day it rained again, and Bart 
thought best not to start down the slippery 
trail into the Canyon,—instead, he arranged 
with a passing cattle owner to go for a 
yearling steer that would supply them with 
fresh meat. Compensation for the delay 
came that afternoon when the fishermen of 
the two crowds met, and as is the way of 
campers in the West, promptly amalga¬ 
mated. The subject of the John Muir Trail 
trip had been the subject of much planning 
with both Bart’s and Carlin’s crowd, and 
the two now definitely planned to join 
forces. For the sake of aiding the conser- 


A Matter of Fair Play 155 

vation of scenic beauty it was planned to 
take pictures and give the widest publicity 
to the venture. Norma reflected anew, 
when she heard, that the man who success¬ 
fully packed and guided them would be the 
best advertised guide in the country: his 
future would be assured. 

She was nearly frantic when she likewise 
reflected that Carlin, feeling Bart to be his 
only formidable rival to the securing of the 
big contract, might yet do something terri¬ 
ble to spoil Bart’s present trip and put him 
out of the running. She meant to see that 
Bart was perpetually on his guard from this 
day forth lest the big man should end with 
an even worse trick than any he had. yet 
attempted. 

Offhand, she could not help making cer¬ 
tain comparisons. Some of Carlin’s ani¬ 
mals were stumbling dangerously, many 
had cinch sores or galled back where their 
packs had not been balanced or their blan¬ 
kets folded wide enough,—then, too, they 
were looking lean and rangy, in contrast to 


156 Adventures on the High Trail 

Bart’s small, chunky selection of lighter 
feeding mules, still in excellent condi¬ 
tion. 

She had a number of ideas at work in the 
back of her head for the greater comfort 
of the John Muir trip,—for one, she had in¬ 
vented an extra light weight sleeping bag. 
Admiring Mrs. Clark’s bag of four thick¬ 
nesses of llama wool duffel that, at eight 
pounds weight in its waterproof case, kept 
her snug on the coldest nights, Norma had 
cut down her own wool batting bag by taper¬ 
ing it from the hips to the feet, thus elimi¬ 
nating nearly a third of its weight. Why 
could not that be done with the llama wool 
duffel? If she could have a number of the 
bags made up at once, there would not be 
an inch of waste in cutting, and the cost 
would be materially lightened. A bed of 
equal warmth in blankets would weigh fif¬ 
teen or twenty pounds. These rose-hued re¬ 
flections were shortly interrupted. 

“Oh,” she heard one of Carlin’s party 
exclaim, “what a dreadful time you poor 


A Matter of Fair Flay 157 

things must have had! They were telling 
us down there at the store!” 

“How did you ever live through that 
night without your sleeping-bags?” 

“We hear you’ve all had to turn in and 
help cook!” (How in the world, thought 
Norma, could Carlin or anyone else keep so 
well posted on their affairs? Or were their 
own people complaining?) 

“What did you think, girls,—what did 
you do—when you found a man in your sleep¬ 
ing-quarters! What kind of fellow was 
he ? ” She saw Ucelli’s ears redden. i i Did 
he try to annoy anyone ? Did you put him 
out of the Club?”—This was from that 
ridiculous experience!—Norma laughed 
every time she remembered the shy young 
fellow lying there terrified, with his blankets 
over his head, till everyone had gone to 
breakfast! She felt that this was another 
piece of Carlin’s under-handed opposition, 
and she ran away to calm down before she 
should say anything she might be sorry 
for.—She also wondered what Carlin 


158 Adventures on the High Trail 

would make of her night in the snow-storm! 

She heard some one saying to Bart; 
“Oh, but you’re having so much more fun 
than we are! Mr. Blaisdell, won’t you let 
us go with you the rest of the way, just my 
husband and IV ’ Norma shook her head 
in the negative, but Bart was not taking 
the offer seriously. 

“Trying to get my crowd away from 
me!” she could fancy Carlin charging him. 

Meantime, on short rations, she was at 
wits’ end to invent emergency dishes. Tim 
had been indefatigable in bringing in trout, 
as had some of the other fishermen, and 
they had had Rainbows, Cut-throats and 
Loch Levens. Norma had served them 
fried, baked, and Spanish, boiled with 
horseradish, and in hash form, with de¬ 
hydrated potato, but trout, she feared, would 
soon cease to be a treat to anyone—in fact, 
she thought of Tim’s assertion that after 
one of his Boy Scout fishing trips he hated 
to look a trout in the face for weeks after¬ 
wards. She had taken the luncheon hard- 


159 


A Matter of Fair Play 

tack and tried it fried in bacon fat by way 
of varying their lean breakfasts. It really 
went splendidly with their out-door ap¬ 
petites. She had even invented a raisin 
cooky made of flap-jack flour sweetened, 
and baked in the oven on greased brown 
paper. 

The next day was fair. 

Carlin had his mules lined up on the 
plateau, tightening their cinches for the 
steep downward climb, when Bart came 
along at a gallop with a string of six 
“empties.’’ Carlin tried his best to get un¬ 
der way before Bart could pass him, but 
with his mules whirling and kicking under 
his excited oaths, it was impossible, and 
Bart entered the narrow foot-path ahead of 
him, the sheer rise of Canyon wall on one 
side and the sheer drop on the other effectu¬ 
ally cutting off hope of their passing. 
With the lead thus gained, Bart might go 
clear on to Giant Forest ahead of him,— 
and that did not accord with Carlin’s plans. 


160 Adventures on the High Trail 

As every mountain man is well aware, a 
gun shot from behind will often startle the 
nervous animals into jumping clear off the 
trail. “Hustle along there!” Carlin bel¬ 
lowed, when Bart stopped to let them 
breathe, for the down grade was steeper far 
than a flight of stairs. At every step the 
mules had to brace themselves with all four 
“slick” shod hoofs. Here it was like a 
giant step, as high as their knees—there it 
was a boulder the size of a wash tub that had 
to be stepped over gingerly, then would 
come a smooth slide where some spring had 
muddied the soil, and the erstwhile sure¬ 
footed little beasts simply coasted. Some¬ 
times, too, it was a sloping rock on which 
they skated if their shoes could not find a 
hold on the smooth granite—hairbreadth 
turns, where an animal seemed to be hang¬ 
ing directly over the chasm below, with 
nothing but two thousand feet of fresh air 
between him and the boiling river, spiced 
the monotony of clinging to the ragged edge 
of nothing,—as Bart wryly told himself. 


A Matter of Fair Play 161 

He was leading Moro with one hand, hold¬ 
ing the lead rope of the mule-string in the 
other. The great horse, with quivering 
nostrils, picked each step most carefully of 
all where the rock was broken into fine, slid¬ 
ing chunks like nut coal. Bart reassured 
him anxiously. As they approached The 
Devil’s Turn, where for a hundred feet the 
trail was a mere ledge that had been blasted 
from the solid rock, Bart stopped the ani¬ 
mals to rest for a few minutes on a little 
flat, where there was room for him to tie 
them while he went on ahead with Moro. 
They stood breathing heavily. The high- 
strung horse, like all equines, fortunately 
saw nothing clearly save the trail at his feet 
and what lay straight ahead. Bart himself 
hardly dared glance at the dizzying depths. 
Planting each hob-nailed boot with circum¬ 
spection, he led Moro past the danger point, 
and where the trail again widened, dropped 
the reins, which for the mountain pony was 
equivalent to hitching him to the ground,— 
then Bart returned for the mule-string. As 


162 Adventures on the High Trail 

an afterthought, he lifted the lariat from 
his saddle horn and carried the heavy coil 
on one arm. 

Carlin, who had, contrary to mountain 
etiquette, crowded close on the trail just be¬ 
hind the little flat, waited with audible signs 
of impatience for Bart to vacate that van¬ 
tage point. Bart led off slowly, so that, 
should the Goat take it into his head to balk, 
there would be no sudden jerk on the rope 
that bound them into line, for a sudden loss 
of equilibrium as the trail wound around 
the cliff might easily make them lose their 
footing. True, there was a measure of 
safety in having them roped together, for 
if one slipped, the others could hold him 
from going overboard—but Bart was tak¬ 
ing no chances. 

The wary animals had just reached the 
worst part of the turn when the Goat decided 
to take another moment’s breathing space; 
and the whole string came quietly to a stand¬ 
still. Bart never urged them on a bad trail, 
trusting that the wise animals knew their 


163 


A Matter of Fair Play 

own powers better than he did. Once ar¬ 
rived on the Canyon floor, there would be 
eight miles of level where they could make 
time. 

“Hi, there!” came Carlin’s shout from the 
plateau, where his mules were resting. 
“I’ll show you how to make them mules 
hike along,” and his revolver barked five 
times into the sky. 

With startled squeals three of the mules 
quivered off the trail, kicking violently as 
their feet went out from under them. Their 
weight dragged the rest after them. Bart’s 
end of the rope burnt past his palm,—and 
he let it go just in time to save his balance. 


CHAPTER IX 
THE PLOT THICKENS 


B ART’S first impulse, when he heard 
the shots, had been to do physical vio¬ 
lence to Carlin. 

As his mules went over the cliff, his 
wrath lent him a confidence he would not 
otherwise have felt, for Carlin was a big¬ 
ger man,—though he had allowed himself to 
get over-weight. A jangling of mule bells 
just back of the turn told him that Tex, who 
had been next in line, was also having 
trouble with his stock, though on the wider 
trail above it was less likely that disaster 
had overtaken them. What came next, hap¬ 
pened all in a twinkling. 

Bart approached the big man, who had 
dismounted to tighten his cinches. “ You 
knew that would happen,” avowed Bart, 
chin out-thrust. “You fired on purpose to 

164 


The Plot Thickens 


165 


scare those mules off the trail.’’ He gave 
him a long level look from which Carlin 
shifted his gaze. “What’s more,”—his 
words came as unexpectedly as had the 
shots,—* I’m going to thrash you for it!” 

“Thrash meV y the big man started to 
laugh. 

“Yes. Defend yourself!” growled Bart. 
Feinting with his right, he landed Carlin a 
left hook behind the ear, which sent him 
reeling. Muttering an oath, Carlin lunged 
forward with a vicious swing of his right, 
but he cleaved empty air. Bart was about 
to return a left-hand upper-cut when a 
stentorian roar from Tex ordered: “Stop—• 
or I’ll fire!—What do you two idiots mean 
by mixing it on a trail like this? It’s man¬ 
slaughter !” and more in a language in which 
cowmen are lamentably proficient. 

The combatants stopped in surprise. 

“Skin yourself!” barked Tex. “Shed 
that cannon on your hip! I got a weepin 
myself—now mount that there mustang 
and git!—And don’t throw no back-talk!” 


166 Adventures on the High Trail 

To Bart, Tex afterwards explained that 
Carlin never hesitated—when there were no 
witnesses—at kicking and gouging, and he 
would have sent Bart over the cliff. Carlin 
passed on with his string of mules. It had 
all happened in an incredibly short time. 
One glance below, and Bart realized that 
there was no time to indulge personal feel¬ 
ing. So quickly had all this happened that 
the granite walls of the mighty gorge still 
echoed to the sound that had shattered the 
stillness. The lead mule’s body caught on a 
jutting pinnacle: ten feet below was a jum¬ 
ble of huge crags, where had been a fault 
scarp in the mighty cliff, and for a little 
way its descent was roughened. The five 
mules, slightly halted by the steel-strong 
hair rope fast on the cross-trees of their 
saddles, slid somewhat less impetuously to 
this rocky excrescence, and there lay, kick¬ 
ing and squealing and very much alive,— 
though the lead mule hung limp on the spire 
that had cut short his fall. 

With one glance at the five surviving 


The Plot Thickens 


167 


mules perched so precariously below him, 
Bart realized that there was need of instant 
action. Without stopping to wonder how 
they might be got back to the trail, he saw 
that the rope that tied them together must 
be severed, or one, falling still farther, 
would drag the others after him. Thankful 
that he had his lariat, he threw the noose 
end over a firmly rooted boulder and let 
himself down to his terror-stricken pack¬ 
string. 

Even in that brief space his quick¬ 
ened brain had seen that he would need an¬ 
other rope, and as they seemed in no in¬ 
stant danger of falling farther, he untied 
them with lightning rapidity, though ready 
to slash the rope the instant the need should 
arise. Quieting the frightened animals, he 
saw that as they scrambled back to all 
fours, they appeared to be sound of limb, 
though terribly cut and gory in a superfi¬ 
cial way. The tough creatures would sur¬ 
vive,—provided he could get them back to 
the trail. How to accomplish that, short of 


168 Adventures on the High Trail 

providing them with wings, he did not in¬ 
stantly see. Then he remembered the block 
and tackle that Tex always carried. He 
scanned the trail above. Carlin had gone 
on, and already the bells of Norma’s lead 
mule sounded. Behind her, he knew,—un¬ 
less Carlin’s packers had interlarded them¬ 
selves in the line,—would come Tex, then 
the college boy, then Tim, and last of all, 
Piute Joe. 

The girl had steady nerves, and Bart, 
megaphoning with his hands, explained the 
situation in a nutshell and bade her push 
on to Giant Forest with Tim and the college 
boy, and meet the crowd, as he and the other 
two were likely to be all day hauling the 
mules back to the trail. “You’ll make it 
by afternoon,” he assured her—“I guess 
Carlin hasn’t beaten us yet.” 

Now came one of the most difficult feats 
of mountaineering. Bart studied the situa¬ 
tion, while Tex hugged the wall of the tiny 
plateau so that the other two could pass him. 
One glance down the precipice beneath them 


The Plot Thickens 


169 


announced a sheer, unbroken drop of over 
a thousand feet. There was but thirty feet 
to regain the trail,—but thirty feet of sheer, 
vertical rise. He wondered if there would 
be anything to which they could attach the 
hook that would stand the strain. The 
mules might kick frantically while being 
rescued: at best they would be nine hundred 
pounds of dead weight. It occurred to him 
that he might at least prevent the kicking 
by blindfolding them. The Goat always be¬ 
came a lamb, once the blinder was in place. 
The Goat, by the way, was quiet for the mo¬ 
ment, his bruised sides heaving. It would 
be a propitious time for getting a ban¬ 
danna tied over that rebel’s eyes, pending 
the arrival of the blinder. That he accom¬ 
plished. 

Norma’s procession wound out of sight, 
and Piute Joe lined his six mules on the flat 
beside the string the cowboy led. ‘ c This 
yere bunch o’ lazy brutes’ll shore stand till 
we make ’em go agin,” Tex thought. The 
Indian moved silently under Bart’s rapid- 


170 Adventures on the High Trail 

fire instuctions, his round bronze face im¬ 
mobile. He descended to a place beside 
him, where his huge muscles would be in¬ 
valuable in the work at hand. 

“Hi, there!” yelled Tex, “you better skin 
back up yere, Bart, and lemme handle that 
end of it. Fust thing you know, you’re like 
to git shoved offen into kingdom come.” 

“Nothing doing. So might you.” Bart 
was adamant. 

The ropes available were rigged on the 
block, and a ledge found where the hook 
would hold. The Goat had better go first, 
decided Bart. He made some short bits of 
rope fast around the fore feet and hind feet, 
then passed the tackle around the chest, 
with a saddle blanket for a pad. Bracing 
themselves as far from the Goat’s uncertain 
heels as possible, the two men began heav¬ 
ing on the rope. They seemed to stand al¬ 
most directly under the slowly ascending- 
burden. The veins stood swollen on their 
necks and perspiration drenched their cloth¬ 
ing. Then Tex dragged the ungrateful ob- 


The Plot Thickens 


171 


ject of their solicitude over the brink of 
safety and got him right side up with 
care. 

The rest was a matter of time. When, 
hours later, Bart, too, had been drawn back 
to the trail, he hurried to where Moro had 
been left. In place of the huge gray horse, 
he found a scrap of brown paper fluttering 
from under a stone. On it was scribbled, 
all but illegibly, “Cud not pass, Had to drive 
him ahead, youl find him al right on the 
valey floor.” It was Carlin’s spelling. 

Bart was really glad that Moro was down 
where he could graze, but his wrath at Car¬ 
lin’s whole performance once more inflamed 
him. 

The view, going down, was superb, 
with the mauve mists that rose from the 
Canyon three thousand feet below, and the 
singing waterfall, milk-white against the 
clear green of the racing water. A rich 
man had a chateau there, where the falls 
make a living picture for him,—the only 
sign of human habitation they had seen, 


172 Adventures on the High Trail 

though they passed several campers and 
fishermen on horseback, with loaded pack 
animals. 

King’s Canyon had been named for the 
intrepid explorer, Clarence King, a member 
of that famous expedition of Prof. J. D. 
Whitney, California state geologist in the 
sixties, during which they discovered that 
highest peak of the United States that now 
bears his name. King it was who after¬ 
wards suggested and organized the United 
States Geological Survey. 

It was comparatively warm in the Can¬ 
yon, only four thousand feet above sea level. 
Turning the stock into the pay corral at 
twenty-five cents a head, Norma saw dinner 
under way, then waited anxiously for Bart. 
Carlin was nowhere to be seen: he had prob¬ 
ably camped farther down the river, though 
his mules were in the corral. The hikers 
trailed in at intervals, all afternoon, most 
of them eager for a plunge in the deep, 
green river and a cat-nap on the springy 
pine woods floor. Dr. Clark had had the 


The Plot Thickens 


173 


bonfire group assembled for an hour be¬ 
fore Bart finally got in with the battered 
mules. Someone had been inspired by the 
various mishaps of the trip to write some 
verse to which Norma listened anxiously 
for a sign of the spirit of the expedition. 
The effort was entitled: 

“THE OLD CAMP-CLUB” 

—With Apologies to Bret Hart. 

“Now shift your duffel-bag before the break¬ 
fast line you win, 

And draw your strap up tighter till the sweat 
drops from your chin, 

We’ve a hundred miles to cover e’er we reach 
the next divide, 

Our limbs are stiff er now than when we first 
set out to stride, 

And worse, our heels are blistered, though the 
doctor never tires 

Of making everybody comfy, around the old 
camp-fire . 

“You know the shout that would ring out before 
us down the trail, 


174 Adventures on the High Trail 

If Dr. Clark brought up the rear-guard like a 
flight of quail, 

Leading his pet bamboozle and its kittens by 
the mane, 

Sending the Whiff- y n y -puff- y n y -pants back to 
their holes again, 

Until we saw, hooroo! — hurrah!—the flaming 
pyre, 

Fed fat by Hiker Nutting, who lights the old 
camp-fire! yy 

This was greeted with such hilarious ap¬ 
preciation that the parodist continued: 

“Those picket stars, whose tranquil watch dis¬ 
closed the shadows creeping, 

What cared we then what beasts or men might 
circumspect our sleeping f 

We lay and heard beast, fish and bird, the too- 
zle-woozle humpy, 

Triceratops, ichtheosaurus, brontosaurus 
dumpy, 

The Rainbow-gigantea, froggy-woggy f s yelp¬ 
ing choir, 

Beyond the magic circle drawn y round the old 
camp-fire. 

“And then the rest on rock-points press y d, 
when dreams are all we know. 


The Plot Thickens 175 

The mules they browsed from bed to bed, with 
cow-bells soft and low; 

We lay on startled elbows propp'd, and shouted 
at the beasts, 

Adjuring them in Heaven's name to elsewhere 
seek their feasts. 

Twelve Blaisdell miles by Sol's first smile were 
we pledged to trip it. 

With * which-will-you-have-or-trout’ at 3 g. m.— 
or skip it. 

And then the morn, why were we born, to creak 
like rusty hinges, 

Our boots were wet, our costumes hung in 
fringes.” 

“Thank goodness,” was Norma’s inward 
commentary, at the laugh that followed, 
“we have a bunch of good sports. I guess 
Bart isn’t queered yet!” 

“It looks to me,” the doctor pronounced, 
“that we have enjoyed our hardships the 
most of all.” Norma’s relief may be im¬ 
agined. 

The next day they would climb out of the 
Canyon and camp at Horse Corral Meadow, 


176 Adventures on the High Trail 

and the day after, they would make Marble 
Fork, six miles by auto road from Giant 
Forest, and hold their farewell celebration. 

It was with regret that Bart’s people left 
Kings’ Canyon. Most of them might never 
see it again as it looked today, for it was 
rumored that several big water companies 
wanted to dam the river and make a lake 
eight miles long of the Canyon floor. As 
the three-thousand-foot sides were impos¬ 
sible to scale, that would cut off all the 
country in the region of the Yidettes and 
Kearsarge Pass, and make that circuit of 
Mt. Whitney impossible—or if the legis¬ 
lation making that possible failed to go 
through, an automobile road, already in 
process of construction, that was taking 
five years to build, would in about three 
years more make all this wilderness acces¬ 
sible to motorists. The Club had been 
talking of cooperating with the Park and 
Forest Service in erecting shelter huts 
about every fifteen miles along the high 


The Plot Thickens 


177 


trail, in which mountain climbers could 
take shelter in bad weather—not huts, 
really, but lean-tos fitted with bough beds 
and sheltered on their open side by stone 
fireplaces. 

Looking back from the switch-back trail 
that led up out of the Canyon, towards sun¬ 
down, Norma caught her breath at the won¬ 
der of that mighty gorge,—after a passing 
shower, spanned by a rainbow that reached 
from peak to peak of the Canyon rim. No 
painter, however colorful, could give the fra¬ 
grance of the scene, nor the sound of run¬ 
ning water, nor the exuberant freshness of 
the cool air. Her mules had taken advan¬ 
tage of her absorption to scatter, in an open 
spot, trying ravenously to browse on the 
scant undergrowth that they could find. 
Tex deftly lassooed them back into line, stat¬ 
ing emphatically that the best scenery, to his 
mind, would be “a nice green pasture for 
them mules.’* 

Hot and tired, they camped that night 


178 Adventures on the High Trail 

at a chain of long green meadows where 
stood the summer home of a public spirited 
old-timer, one of the interesting features of 
which was a bath-house off to one side in a 
wee log cabin. Within, it was rumored, 
stood a tub made of a huge hollowed log, 
fitted with plugs and faucets, its hot water 
pipes heated ingeniously at an out-side fire¬ 
place. 

To Norma’s relief,—for she had won¬ 
dered much about his sudden absence,— 
Bart now appeared, emerging from consul¬ 
tation with a group on the veranda. 

He greeted her with: 4 ‘Which do you 
want most, Norma, your dinner or a hot 
tub?” 

“A hot tub!” 

“Then go right down there,” pointing 
out the bath-house. “Hurry!—Because 
I’ve got something slick to tell you.” 

“What?” 

She did not learn what till she emerged 
twenty minutes later glowing and rejuven¬ 
ated. He was waiting with her plate 


The Plot Thickens 


179 


heaped high, for the dinner line had al¬ 
ready formed. “I’ve been telegraphing,” 
he told her, “ trying to get a line on 
Carlin, and I’ve picked up a heifer and 
some supplies and arranged for a barbecue 
at Marble Fork, and a wagon load of water¬ 
melons and green stuff.— We’ll give ’em 
the time of their lives that last night—and 
it’s my treat!— Now don’t say a word! ’ ’— 
and he was off before she could ask de¬ 
tails. 

There was to be a fly in the ointment. 
Carlin, too, had camped at Horse Corral.— 
The green oasis was large enough for several 
parties.—As Norma passed through camp 
after dinner to join the group around the 
bonfire, she found Carlin hob-nobbing with 
Dr. Clark. “Yes,” jovial Dr. Clark was 
assuring him, “a few mishaps are bound to 
happen on a trip like this. But—” 

“You wouldn’t have had even those, if 
he’d known his business,” Carlin assured 
him, then paid him an ingratiating compli¬ 
ment on his personal appearance. 


180 Adventures on the High Trail 

“He’s been trying to prejudice Dr. 
Clark!” thought Norma, then caught her 
breath, for the doctor was saying: “Of 
course—you’ll be welcome! We’ll join 
forces that last night. It’s a good idea. 
Glad you suggested it. We ’ll have speeches 
and everything, eh?” 

“We’ll be there,” Carlin boomed, with a 
farewell handshake. 

So Carlin would brazenly attend their 
farewell celebration, Norma told Bart, and 
probably try—whether subtly or openly— 
to discredit their services. 

“Just let him!” threatened Bart, won¬ 
dering inwardly what he could do about it. 
“He isn’t the only one that can—” 

“Can what?” 

“Dog-gone! If we could just think of 
something!” 

She felt a sudden overwhelming weari¬ 
ness,—less of the body than of the spirit,— 
a disinclination to join the bonfire group 
singing: 


The Plot Thickens 


181 


“Every mountain that we see 
Looks as easy as can be, 

And we ain’t got weary yet!” 

Slipping away to her bed under the cir¬ 
cling stars, she reviewed the trip. Carlin’s 
opposition had certainly brought out the 
fight in easy-going Bart. It had all but 
made a man of Tim. How thankful her 
mother would be! That was largely thanks 
to Tex, and partly thanks to the necessity 
of calling on him for his uttermost. She 
wondered if Tex had been hurt. She had 
seen little of him since the Mt. Whitney 
episode, but he had appeared the same good 
fellow. Certainly he had been a god-send 
to Bart. 

During the four concentrated weeks of 
daily intimacy with the Club, she had come 
to know everyone as well as she could have 
in years under different conditions. 

She wondered if Carlin’s crowd had had 
opportunity to find him out,—his bluster- 


182 Adventures on the High Trail 

mg promises unfulfilled, his lack of scru¬ 
ple in dealing with ’Bart.— How would 
Bart come out in the promised show-down 
tomorrow night ? 

Well, Carlin had made his crowd the 
most glowing prophesies of dry weather, so 
that they were unprepared with any kind 
of rain togs. He had carefully avoided 
warning them how they would be cut off 
from the mails. He had their money now, 
and he had led them into a wilderness from 
which it would be hard for them to return 
without his aid. Had they but known it, 
he had treated a long succession of campers 
in the same high-handed manner. If they 
ventured to protest, he leapt into verbal 
battle with such delight and with such an 
expenditure of sheer sound that those who 
loved peace preferred to let the matter rest. 

Norma was relieved when the crowd be¬ 
gan flashing electric torches like so many 
giant fire-flies, as they found their way to 
their sleeping-bags—then sheer physical 
fatigue closed her eyes in sleep. 


The Plot Thickens 183 

She was amazed, just as the breakfast 
line was being served, to see the green clad 
figure of Ranger Hope leading his horse 
from the direction of Carlin’s camp. 
“Good morning!” he responded shortly to 
Bart’s greeting. “ Anyone around here been 
killing deer?” 

“Why, no,” was Bart’s instant reply. 

The newcomer searchingly scanned the 
faces now focussed on his own. “Someone 
killed an eight-prong buck up there back of 
Vidette.—Killed it for the meat, for the 
antlers were left behind, head and all.” 

Norma, remembering her snap-shots, 
started forward, but Dr. Clark was protest¬ 
ing: “No one in this Club would violate 
the game laws of the Forests we are pledged 
to fight for—as for fresh meat, we had all 
we wanted up there. Bart brought us in a 
fresh killed veal—” 

“Sure it wasn’t ‘wild veal’?” The 
Ranger smiled quizzically. 

Bart took him seriously. “It was a 
young steer!” 


184 Adventures on the High Trail 

“I wonder if it was venison V 9 Mrs. 
Progg’s aside was heedlessly audible. “It 
was certainly awfully tough, but I had an 
idea venison tasted—” 

“Fresh meat is always tough—the first 
day,” said Martha Hatch. Several people 
were eyeing Bart doubtfully. “Don’t you 
know beef when you taste it?” 

“Mr. Hope!” exclaimed Norma stepping 
forward. Her cheeks were flaming. 

He greeted her with what seemed to the 
over-strained girl but non-committal cour¬ 
tesy. 

“Mr. Hope,—that morning after the 
snow-fall, ’ ’ curious eyes were turned on the 
pair, “as I was leaving Bullfrog Lake I saw 
a buck off on the slope to the left,” and she 
described the following of the slaughtered 
animal and the taking of the snapshots. A 
murmur of approval ran around the circle, 
though at mention of the broad foot-prints 
there was a surreptitious eyeing of the as¬ 
sembled hiking boots. 


The Plot Thickens 


185 


“Have you those pictures?” Hope de¬ 
manded eagerly. 

“I have the film.—I can get it developed 
at Giant Forest.” 

“Let me take it, please. I have business 
there, and I can get it developed. Where 
are you camping tomorrow night?” 

“At Marble Fork.” 

“I think I shall be able to have the pic¬ 
tures there.—Meantime,” glancing specula¬ 
tively towards Carlin’s camp, “please say 
nothing of this to anyone.—It may consti¬ 
tute valuable evidence. There has been al¬ 
together too much violation of the game 
laws in National Forest territory. The of¬ 
ficial feeling is that we must punish each 
offender to the full extent of the law.” 


CHAPTER X 


THE SHOW-DOWN 

T HEY crossed Marble Fork, a wide, 
shallow branch of the Kaweah, early 
that afternoon, to find their quarters to the 
left of a colony of perhaps a dozen auto¬ 
mobile-tent dwellers established with rustic 
tables and other improvised conveniences 
along the pine shaded river bank. There 
was much to do in preparation for the bar¬ 
becue: vaudeville costumes were to be im¬ 
provised from the material at hand, a tin 
pail tied with ribbon serving for a bonnet, 
wreaths concocted of the dry Spanish moss, 
and Indian blankets draped. 

Norma was on pins and needles to have 
Ranger Hope return with the kodak pic¬ 
tures. Bart had eonfided his suspicions of 
the foot-print she described. He was glad 
now that Carlin was to join the assembly 
186 


The Show-Down 187 

that evening. In that way, he would surely 
be there, ready, when he was wanted. 

A doe peered with ears pointing forward 
from a manzanita thicket at the China hoys 
preparing supper. Mrs. Progg returned 
from a trip she had had with a passing mo¬ 
torist, bearing in her arms a spotted fawn. 
Everyone crowded around as the little crea¬ 
ture, no bigger than a house cat save for its 
spindling legs, lay trembling, big eyed, in 
her lap. Norma brought it a cup of warm 
milk,—the powdered variety,—but the wild 
baby would have none of it, though its sides 
were hollow. Mrs. Progg was explaining 
how she had seen it playing hide and seek 
with its mother when, apparently unused to 
human kind, it had come to her call,—and 
now she meant to take it back to the city 
with her. 

As that assertion left her lips, however, 
a ranger suddenly strode into the midst of 
the group, leading his horse with an arm 
through the bridle. “Madam,” he stated, 
“you are permitted to take nothing from 


188 Adventures on the High Trail 

within Park boundaries, not even a pine 
cone.—Where did you find this fawn?” tak¬ 
ing the little fellow up in his arms.—The 
milk-spotted red-brown baby was panting 
with fright. 

She told him, defiantly. He inquired the 
exact spot. 

“I shall endeavor to find its mother,” he 
ended the conference. 

“My!” marvelled Mrs. Progg, “they cer¬ 
tainly think a lot of these Park deer.” 

“Yes,” agreed Mrs. Clark, “you might al¬ 
most say they are Uncle Sam’s wards. 
They belong to the whole people of the 
United States, just as these Big Trees do.” 

Norma reflected that Carlin still had to 
stand trial for having nearly set the Big 
Trees afire. 

A wagon-load of fruit and green things 
had arrived. Bart had had a pit dug and 
a bed of glowing coals awaited the meat 
to be barbecued. Ucelli was practicing 
some special music with the best singers, 
and Dr. and Mrs. Clark were welcoming 


The Show-Down 189 

the Park officials, who were to be guests of 
honor. 

They ate by the light of the full moon, 
which had made the woods a field of silver 
shadowed with black. 

Carlin’s big voice was very much in evi¬ 
dence. The barbecued meat was perfect, 
and the improvised entertainment kept 
everyone merry. Tex had excused himself 
to Bart and was hurrying to go to the dance 
at Giant Forest,—a public affair attended 
informally every week-day night by camp¬ 
ers, hotel guests, and hotel employees. 
Norma was relieved about him. 

Banger Hope appeared before the meal 
was ended. He had the photographs of the 
tell-tale foot-prints in his pocket, and from 
certain observations he had made, he had 
a pretty good idea as to who had made them, 
but he would wait till the two groups were 
gathered about the bonfire. Norma had 
nothing on that score, he assured her, to 
worry about. 

During the hour before the speaking 


190 Adventures on the High Trail 

should begin, he coaxed her to stroll down 
the road with him. “Nights like these,” 
he marvelled, “seem too wonderful to spend 
in sleep. Do you know what I’d like to 
do?” 

“What?” Norma encouraged. 

“I’d like to go gypsying by moonlight.” 

“They say people do, down in the San 
Jacinto Mountains. It’s too hot to tramp 
much by day, but the nights get the cool 
wind off the ocean, and people walk all 
night, by moonlight or starlight, then rest 
up in the shade next day.” 

“That sounds ideal.” The conversation 
grew more intimate. Their hour was 
nearly spent when he again brought up the 
subj ect. 6 ‘ Wouldn’t one of those moonlight 
walking trips be a fine way to spend a hon¬ 
eymoon?” 

“Wouldn’t it!” Norma agreed. She 
flushed at the look he bent upon her. The 
moon smiled down at them. It had seen so 
many young people look just like that,—but 
nothing more happened at the moment, for 



The moon smiled down at them. 






























































































The Show-Down 


191 


it was high, time they joined the group 
around the bonfire. 

Norma gave an exclamation of dismay, 
for Dr. Clark was asking Carlin to give 
them some advice from his experience 
of pack-horse trips.—What would that 
trickster take it into his head to say? 

In the cleverest way imaginable Carlin 
described the various trips he had piloted, 
never once making open reference to Bart, 
but subtly managing to convey an impres¬ 
sion of the need of long experience, and the 
dangers that befell those who ventured with 
irresponsible guides. 

Hope laughed. “As a modest violet,” he 
told Norma, “he’d make a great advertis¬ 
ing man.” 

A surprise now came for Norma. A 
young lawyer who had taken a former trip 
with Carlin, and whom Bart had found at 
the hotel in Giant Forest, was called to take 
his stand in the circle of the firelight. He 
did not even imply one word against Car¬ 
lin, though he had spoken bitterly to Bart 


192 Adventures on the High Trail 

of his several contacts with the old-timer; 
he merely described those same trips with 
the most rollicking merriment, making the 
most of every laughable mishap that had 
befallen, from the night they had half 
frozen on Mt. Whitney because their bags 
had not come, to the time they got short-ra¬ 
tioned but found cold-pancakes an accept¬ 
able pocket lunch for outdoor appetites. To 
hear him, no one who had not seen the mis¬ 
chievous gleam in his eye as he talked with 
Bart beforehand, would have guessed that 
he was taking a bloodless revenge for 
past injustices: they would have sworn that 
he was merely trying to entertain the as¬ 
semblage with an account of the fun they 
had had—and yet not a shade from the fact 
did he vary.—Carlin scowled blackly and. 
very nearly interrupted several times. 

Dr. Clark then rose to speak of the his¬ 
tory of the Club, its aims and prospects. 
“We have been viewing some of the world’s 
beauty spots,” he told them, “only a small 


The Show-Down 


193 


portion of which, is of the least commercial 
value either to mining, lumbering, grazing 
or water power interests,—the latter, be¬ 
cause of the extreme inaccessibility of the 
region. Some of the territory we have 
been through was for years open to location 
to miners, but it has been shown that the 
little gold that remains since the activities 
that began with the Gold Rush of Forty- 
Nine would not repay the costly methods 
now necessary to mine it. Unfortunately, 
several water power companies exist who 
wish to flood Kings’ River Canyon and 
other show places. *It would be different if 
an imperative necessity could be shown. 
Our desire is to preserve the remnant of 
fine scenery that remains, for the people of 
the whole United States, who might enjoy 
a rejuvenating vacation in these wilds, and 
especially for those who come after, so that 
they shall not call down on the heads of the 
present generation the accusation that could 
justly be made if these unsurpassed works 


194 Adventures on the High Trail 

of Nature are irremediably destroyed.” 
He went into some technical detail as to ex¬ 
isting legislation. 

“The Associated Mountaineering Clubs 
of North America, a bureau comprising 
fifty clubs and societies having, in addition 
to outdoor and mountaineering activities, a 
common interest in the creation, develop¬ 
ment and protection of National Parks and 
Forests,” he had a small green booklet in 
his hand, “a body formed in 1916 with 
headquarters in New York, stands opposed 
to all commercial inroads in our National 
Parks. We hold that the unimpaired scen¬ 
ery is of far greater value to the nation 
than are the irrigation and water power 
that might be gained at their expense. 
One legislative battle has already been 
fought against allowing a scenic portion of 
Yellowstone Park to be eliminated. We 
have been opposing the building of dams 
which would be ruinous to some of the fin¬ 
est scenery in Glacier Park. You have 
probably followed the legislation affecting 


The Show-Down 


195 


the area of the proposed Roosevelt-Sequoia 
National Park,—the area we have just been 
exploring,—and the efforts of Los Angeles 
capital to locate water power reservoirs in 
two of its most wonderful canyons, Kings’ 
and Tehipite. In this state our senior, the 
Sierra Club, has been battling for a gen¬ 
eration, thanks to its founder, John Muir,” 
(applause,) “to preserve the beauties of 
the high Sierra for future generations.” 

The speaker turned to Bart, who was 
to close the program. Norma thought he 
looked worried. “Dr. Clark has not asked 
this of me.—I have asked it of him, asked if 
I might render an account of the funds en¬ 
trusted to me.” 

“One moment, please,” Norma begged, 
innocently, rising to her feet.—Bart paused 
in surprise.—She looked across at the girl 
with whom she had been marooned on Mt. 
Whitney. “Do you mind if we ask what 
Mr. Carlin charges for a trip such as he has 
just made?” 

“Three hundred dollars,” spoke the 


196 Adventures on the High Trail 

girl’s clear voice with equal innocence, be¬ 
fore Carlin could reply. There was a sub¬ 
dued murmur on the side where Bart’s 
crowd sat. 

“Now, then,” resumed Bart, “I have 
handled three thousand dollars,—sixty dol¬ 
lars apiece from fifty people.” Carlin 
shifted uneasily. “You see,” Bart ex¬ 
plained with that half-whimsical appeal in 
his brown eyes that always made Norma 
feel as if he were still a little boy,—and he 
read off the details, food, wages, mule hire. 
She hoped with all her heart that he was 
not going to speak of what had happened 
at the cache, but she need not have ques¬ 
tioned his good taste. 

“Good work!” exclaimed Dr. Clark, as 
he finished. 

“This leaves a profit,” Bart ended 
gamely, “of seven hundred and fifty-six 
dollars.” He straightened. “Owing to 
certain rumors of discontent, I should like 
to return that profit if it has not been worth 


The Show-Down 


197 


it to you.” The boy questioned the sea of 
faces clustered within the circle of fire¬ 
light. 

To Norma’s dismay, Hope rose to his feet. 
“Dr. Clark—and fellow campers,” his 
voice magnetized them to attention. “Do 
you realize that this means just fifty cents 
a day per person for the responsibility of 
guiding and packing and the supervision 
of commissary'?” 

“Why, that’s a fact,” marvelled Martha 
Hatch. 

Hope went on. “Many a guide asks an 
average of ten dollars a day for every per¬ 
son, on such a trip. You can see for your¬ 
self,” refusing to look toward Carlin, “the 
rates quoted in the Park bulletins. And 
it’s worth it,—to anyone that has the 
price.” Carlin looked relieved, Norma 
noticed. 

Dr. Clark rose to his feet. Bart had dis¬ 
appeared as Mr. Nutting threw a fresh log 
on the fire and a shower of sparks flew up. 


198 Adventures on the High Trail 

“It’s worth so much more than friend Bart 
seems to think, that—I believe Mr. Nut¬ 
ting has a motion to make.” 

Nutting rose, running the fingers of one 
hand through his grizzled hair. “I move 
that this Club render a vote of thanks to 
Bart and Norma Blaisdell. Now then,— 
three times three!” 

The cheer was rendered with a will. 

“Furthermore,” Nutting waited for 
quiet, “I move that we render thanks in a 
more substantial form.—Say, a bonus of 
two hundred and fifty dollars.” This drew 
a handclap from the hilarious throng. 

“Nothing doing!” Bart protested hap¬ 
pily. “That isn’t what I—” 

“Hear, hear!” rallied Dr. Clark, “you’re 
no sort of business man, Blaisdell.—Is it 
a vote?” 

The “Ayes” that responded left no doubt 
in even Carlin’s mind. 

He was slipping unobtrusively away as 
the crowd rose to sing when Ranger Hope 


The Show-Down 


199 


strode forward. “One moment, please, Mr. 
Carlin.” Beckoning him aside, with Dr. 
Clark and a Forest Ranger from just over 
the Park boundary line, he spoke sternly, 
while the singers clustered around the fire. 
“I have here a camera picture of the eight- 
prong buck that was killed near Yidette 
Meadows. As you can see,” they all 
crowded around to look, “the snowy ground 
is marked with the foot-prints of one man. 
Here is an enlargement of the foot-print. 
It shows a peculiar arrangement of the hob¬ 
nails, as characteristic as a signature would 
have been. Today, in the dust of the road 
above camp, I noticed those same foot¬ 
prints.” 

Carlin, redder than ever, tried to bluff. 
“Yes,” he agreed, peering at the picture, 
“curious foot-prints. I haven’t seen any¬ 
one—wait! That Tex once passed a remark 
about ‘wild veal’—” 

“Kindly let me see the sole of your boot!” 
said Ranger Hope. As Carlin did not move, 


200 Adventures on the High Trail 

the other Eanger suddenly grasped one foot 
behind the ankle and raised it till the sole 
was visible. It bore the same markings, to 
the last retail! 

The two Rangers then hustled the guilty 
man off the scene,—he would now have to 
stand trial on two charges, including the 
one by the Park Ranger on carelessness 
with fire. Dr. Clark returned to the bon¬ 
fire. 

“One thing more,” added the Club pres¬ 
ident, “it has been suggested that next 
year’s trip be made over the John Muir 
trail along the crest of the Sierras from Mt. 
Whitney to Yosemite. This will be a more 
difficult undertaking than what we have 
done this summer, calling for more careful 
planning, and for saddle horses for at least 
a part of the crowd. It can be done in three 
weeks on horseback or six weeks on foot. 
And so many of the Club who were unable 
to make this year’s trip have signified a de¬ 
sire to go, and so many—er—” with a glance 
at Carlin’s crowd, “individuals from other 


The Show-Down 


201 


parts of the country have asked me to in¬ 
clude them and their friends, that it seems 
likely to be a large group.’’ 

Martha Hatch rose breathlessly. “I 
move,” she gasped, as if surprised at her¬ 
self, “that we ask Bart Blaisdell to guide 
that trip for us!” and it was a matter of 
moments before the thing had been settled 
with an enthusiasm that got the whole 
crowd to its feet to sing: 

“For he f s a jolly good fellow!” 

Bart’s face was fairly illumined. He 
shoved his way to Norma; she had burst into 
tears of relief, and hid her face against his 
sleeve as they stood in the shadow of a tree 
trunk. “I sure owe a lot of this to you, 
Sis,” he murmured gratefully, thrusting his 
tense hands deep into his pockets and try¬ 
ing to hide his intoxication of victory. 

The Club had started singing: 

“We can see the mountain glistening with the 
mist crown Wound its head, 


202 Adventures on the High Trail 

As we wind along the beauteous trails where 
light-foot deer have tread, 

And we y ll keep on gaily tramping , till the west¬ 
ern sky is red , 

As we go hiking on.” 


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MAP OF THE SIERRA CLUB 
TRIP OF 1922: THE SETTING 
USED IN THE STORY. 

The heavy dotted line indicates 
a circuit of about two hundred and 
seventy miles of trails that can be 
traversed by pack mules. 

The lighter dotted lines rep¬ 
resent climbs afoot to the neigh¬ 
boring peaks. 

The tents signify meadows where 
base-camps were made. 

The figures stand for the number 
of feet in altitude. 






























APPENDIX 

MOUNTAINEERING OUTFIT 
Becommended by the Sierra 
Club 


DUNNAGE-BAGS: 

No personal baggage will be accepted for 
transportation on the pack-train unless 
packed in dunnage-bags of dimensions and 
shapes as follows: Cylindrical canvas bags 
not to exceed, when packed, three feet in 
length and eighteen inches in diameter, 
plainly marked with the names and 
home addresses of their respective owners. 
These should be painted on the bags in 
large letters. 

Weight of each individual’s personal 
baggage when packed in bag not to exceed 
thirty-five pounds. 


203 


204 


Appendix 


THE ESSENTIALS. 

1. Sleeping outfit. This should consist 
of a sleeping-bag made by doubling two 
wool comforters, so as to give the bag the 
greatest length, and sewing them securely 
together across the bottom and two-thirds 
of the way up the side. This bag should be 
lined and covered with sateen, which should 
project a foot or two beyond the top as a 
loose flap. The wool comforters may be 
sewed up into separate bags as indicated, 
and one lined and the other covered. One 
bag can then be slipped inside the other for 
ordinary use and removed easily for knap¬ 
sack trips where economy of weight is de¬ 
sirable. A tall person will require com¬ 
forters of extra length. Blankets are too 
heavy and cotton comforters are not desir¬ 
able. 

A waterproof sheet or covering at least 
6x7 feet should also be taken. Canvas and 
the ordinary rubber blanket are entirely 
too heavy for this purpose. The most 
serviceable and satisfactory material is wa- 


Appendix 205 

terproof silk. It is strong, durable, per¬ 
fectly waterproof, and very light. A piece 
five yards in length, cut in half and sewed 
together along one side, will make a large 
sheet that will protect the sleeping-bag 
from the ground and form a covering as 
well. Firms who advertise at the end of 
this announcement carry this very desir¬ 
able material and will fill orders by mail. 

2. A tramping suit . Of stout material — 
corduroy, denim, khaki, or the like—one 
suit should suffice for the entire trip. Men 
should have an extra pair of khaki trousers 
and an extra light-weight flannel overshirt. 
Overcoats are not taken, but each one 
should have a sweater. If a coat is worn it 
should be made of khaki or some light¬ 
weight material. Women should also have 
an extra pair of hiking or riding breeches. 

3. The underclothing should be such as 
one would wear in average winter weather 
in California—i. e., of medium weight, and 
one change should be taken. 

4. Footwear is an all-important question. 


206 Appendix 

One pair, at least, of stout, well-fitting, 
easy-wearing shoes, with extra heavy soles 
containing hob-nails, is essential for tramp¬ 
ing. These should be thoroughly broken in 
before the outing. The wear and tear on 
footwear on these trips is very great, and 
novices have frequently had their trips 
nearly spoiled by under-estimating the ne¬ 
cessity for stout shoes. A light pair of 
shoes to wear about the camp after the 
day’s tramp will be conducive to comfort. 
Those may be tennis shoes or moccasins. 

5. Hosiery . Several pairs of moderately 
heavy and serviceable socks or stockings 
should be taken. Experience has proven 
that if two pairs of medium weight woolen 
socks are worn (or a single pair of extra 
heavy weight) the feet will not suffer from 
chafing and blistering. Women will find 
that a pair of stockings and a pair of boys’ 
size woolen socks will serve the same pur¬ 
pose, and this plan is highly recommended 
by women who have done a great deal of 
tramping in the mountains. Zinc-oxide 


Appendix 207 

adhesive plaster applied in strips on the 
heels serves as a protection against chafing, 
and each member of the party should be 
provided with a five-yard roll of one-inch 
tape and a small package of cotton. 

6. Headgear . Any sort of light, broad- 
brimmed hat can be worn. Large blanket 
safety-pins have been found by the women 
desirable to use in place of hat pins. 

7. Sundries. Toilet articles, soap and 
towels, including a cake of cold water soap 
for washing clothes. A very fine mesh 
mosquito head-net and heavy gloves, pref¬ 
erably gauntlet. For those who desire to 
climb mountains, colored glasses or goggles 
are essential. Women should also carry 
dark, heavy veils to protect the face from 
snow-burn, unless they use actors’ grease 
paint as a protection. 

It is essential that each member of the 
party, unless provided with large pockets, 
take a small lunch-bag with shoulder strap 
for use on daily trips. 

Canteen, drinking-cup, and bathing-suit 


208 Appendix 

are desirable articles, though not absolute 
necessities. 

8. Tents are not essential and are seldom 
used to sleep in. Several women may com¬ 
bine and take a light-weight tent, using it 
as a dressing-room. A light-weight 7x7 
A-tent, with a ridge rope, without poles or 
pins, or any other form of small tent, is rec¬ 
ommended. This tent must be included in 
the prescribed limit and must be packed in 
the three-foot dunnage-bag. 

A piece of dark-green percaline or silesia 
cloth about six feet in width and 20 feet in 
length, strung up as an enclosure with 
heavy cord, is an admirable substitute for 
a dressing-tent, and weighs but 2% pounds. 
Several women can combine and take one 
of these. 

9. A pocket-roll facilitates the care and 
packing of one’s effects. It should be made 
of denim or drilling, as follows: A piece 
three feet square is first taken as a back, 
and three box-plaited pockets, each a foot 
deep, and one above the other, and extend- 


Appendix 209 

ing the entire width, are securely sewed to 
the back and hound with tape. The upper 
pocket can be divided into three divisions 
to hold small articles. All these pockets 
may be closed with flaps or tied with tapes. 
Into this roll all one’s belongings except 
bedding can be packed, and it can be ar¬ 
ranged with eyelet and cord and hung to a 
tree when in camp. 

10. Knapsack. For those purposing to 
take arduous side-trips, a durable knapsack 
or pack harness is necessary. 

It will be desirable to have a candle-lan¬ 
tern or flash light and also a lightweight 
collapsible canvas water bucket. 

To pack one’s outfit properly, the bed¬ 
ding should be laid on the ground, extended 
full length and folded so as not to be more 
than three feet in width. On one end of 
the bedding lay the packed pocket-roll and 
then roll it up inside of the bedding. 
Fasten the entire roll with a stout cord 
or straps, and pull the dunnage-bag over 
it. 


210 Appendix 

CHECK LIST AND WEIGHTS 

PERSONAL OUTFIT 

In order that members of the party may have 
a more definite idea of what to take and the ap¬ 
proximate weights of the various articles, the 
following list has been carefully compiled: 


Sleeping-bag— Lbs. Ozs. 

Wool comfort or eiderdown bag.... 8 0 

Sheet of waterproof silk, 6 x 7 ft- 1 10 

Total . 9 10 

Clothing in addition to what is worn— 

Sweater . 1 8 

Pajamas or nightgown. 0 14 

One suit underclothing . 1 2 

Light pair shoes. 2 0 

6 bandannas. 0 8 

Men Women 

1 pair trousers. 1 pair trousers .. 1 8 

1 overshirt - 1 waist . 0 10 

6 pair socks ... 6 pair stockings .. 1 0 

Total. 9 2 










Appendix 


211 


Miscellaneous— 

Toilet articles . 2 0 

Towels—1 bath, 2 face .1 4 

Knapsack or pack harness. 1 6 

Pocket-roll (denim) ..... 1 2 

Dunnage-bag ... 2 0 

Candles and lantern or electric flash 1 0 

Collapsible canvas water bucket.0 10 

Total —.>_9 6 

This is a liberal allowance, and makes a 
grand total of about twenty-nine pounds, 
leaving a small balance for cloth enclosure, 
fishing tackle, writing and sewing outfits, 
etc. 

FOOD LIST. 

In planning a pack-horse trip through 
the mountains, far from a base of supplies, 
it may be useful to know what the Sierra 
Club carried on its trip of July 9 to Au¬ 
gust 6, 1922, when two hundred and eighty- 
seven men and women made a circuit afoot, 
of the high country of the proposed Roose- 
velt-Sequoia National Park. 









212 Appendix 


Total fresh and dried fruit carried for trip 
23,000 pounds. 1 



Pounds: 

Hams ... 

. 2,000 

Flour. 

. 1,500 

Sugar . 

. 1,500 

Cereals: cornmeal, 

oatmeal, farina, 

hominy . .. .v... 

. 1,000 

Rice ... 

. 700 


Dried fruits: peaches, apricots, pears, 
plums, raisins, apples, prunes, 

cherries . 250 

Hardtack (four kinds for pocket 

lunches) . 500 

Sweet chocolate (for pocket lunches) 400 
Cheese ( “ “ “ ) 450 

Dehydrated: celery, Brussels sprouts, toma¬ 
toes, carrots, turnips, parsnips, rhubarb, 
milk. 

Dry groceries: beans, macaroni, spaghetti, 
dried beef, tea, coffee. 

Canned goods: sardines, deviled ham, plum 
pudding, syrup, relishes, sterilized butter. 
For cooking: powdered egg. 

Fresh: beef (three steers), potatoes, onions. 

i By the packers having made four caches in advance of the 
trip the supplies, together with over 10,000 pounds of dunnage, 
were carried on a train and 90 pack-mules. 









Appendix 213 

Bacon at the rate of 50 pounds to a breakfast 
when used. 

Trout—when caught by members, 50 a day per 
person being the limit. 


THE END 





































V 




































